


A Body Called Trixie LaBouche

by Clipped_Ionian_Vowels



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Angst, Better Than Life (novel), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, I know what I'm doing and it's never actually straight, M/M, Trixie LaBouche - Freeform, Trust me on this one, consider this a warning, read the book before this fic unless you want spoilers, spoilers for aforementioned novel, straight...? sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-07 11:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20975504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clipped_Ionian_Vowels/pseuds/Clipped_Ionian_Vowels
Summary: This is basically a sexy re-imagining of the novel Better than Life and therefore contains spoilers to said novel.We find the crew of Red Dwarf living out their wildest dreams in the Alternate Reality game, 'Better than Life'. But Lister soon starts to realise that his dreams perhaps aren't very wild at all. Maybe they're a little, teensy, tiny bit...boring?Enter Trixie LaBouche. In a ten-tonne truck and eight inch heels with a lousy personality to boot, she's definitely not what Lister was expecting. But she might be exactly what he needs.One thing is for sure - Life is never boring around Trixie LaBouche.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I have NO IDEA what Grant Naylor was trying to pull with Trixie LaBouche, but it set my gaydar going like a metal detector in a bank.  
So this is just the logical conclusion of that really.  
As regards updates: The whole fic is written, and the update times will depend on how quickly I can edit my way through the chapters, though I shall be aiming for once a week.  
Now, enjoy!

Dave Lister didn’t consider himself an angry person, not since he’d arrived in Bedford Falls. But then, no one was angry on Christmas Eve.

Or at least, no one _used _to be.

But here he was, stomping angrily towards the prison. He could barely remember being angry; it had been so long, but the memories were coming back and they were coming back _fast. _

Everyone thought he had slept with that tartlet of a woman. Trixie La-Smegging-Bouche.

Even her _name _sounded like it would shag you and steal your wallet while your trousers were round your legs.

The worst thing was Lister would have accepted their glares. He would have accepted their derogatory words and their insults and their rotten tomatoes and their curled lips if – if! – he’d actually slept with that fleshlight-on-legs. He would have done something to actually warrant it.

But he hadn’t. At least, he couldn’t remember having done. And he was sure he would have remembered sleeping with someone like her. Underneath the heavily applied makeup she looked like she might be nearly pretty, intriguing in her way. Lister felt the slimy weight of guilt settle heavily in his gut as he realised the implications of thoughts like this.

His stomping faltered and then continued, hard enough to hurt his shins, crunching through the rubble that the bloody woman had left scattered across his life.

Not for the first time, he wondered why his psyche was doing this to him. He’d lost his wife and kids to this woman, and his life was effectively over. All the good bits were anyway. Why had his sub-consciousness wanted Kochanski gone? On Christmas Eve, no less?

The realisation dawned on him slowly, then all at once. He had stopped deserving her. And it was entirely his fault. Yes it was easy to blame the tart, but ever since discovering the exit, Lister had slowly, ever so slowly, begun to grow dissatisfied with his dawdling life in Bedford Falls. Of course, he didn’t acknowledge it at first. But when you knew, deep down, that the world you lived in was entirely under your control, you couldn’t help but wonder whether you were really an entirely dull person if all your psyche gave you was the same perfect day, lived over and over with tiny differentiations that made you sob with how sappy and sweet it all was.

He knew that his psyche had been growing ill. It was all too saccharine, too sickly. But he had ignored it, reasoning that it was just the natural response to getting everything you had ever wanted. And now it was too late to change anything. His psyche had rebelled, decided to inject something nasty and sexy and gritty into the scene, decided to trash his _Wonderful Life _and fill him with adrenaline, and then that feeling of heavy, soul-sapping guilt as he watched his family leave.

It certainly wasn’t a _Wonderful Life _anymore.

Lister could feel his brain hurtling to another conclusion, one that he would like even less. As he felt the sickness of it trickling down his throat, he cringed against the fact that he could feel it breathing a sticky kind of life back into him. The worst thing about all this… the very worst thing was that in the most unpleasant way, he was almost grateful that he felt guilty. That he felt like the worst kind of scum. Because feeling happy all the time, feeling like a paragon of goodness; it had all become unreal. It had felt more fake than he already knew it was. He had lost himself in it, utterly and completely, and now it was time to pay the price.

The guilt fed on itself, and soon Lister was doubled over, racked with confused sobs. He hadn’t wanted any of this to happen. But now it was here, and happening, and he knew why. Because he had _needed _it to happen.

Someone gave him a glare, muttered at him, something derogatory and judgemental, and all Lister’s brain could do was scream ‘_Piss off!’ _over and over.

After a few minutes, Lister composed himself. People were avoiding him and for once he was grateful. He cleared his throat, wiped his face and took a deep breath, surprised when it didn’t shudder through him.

He hadn’t deserved her. He hadn’t really deserved any of this. He had grown bored and restless. He couldn’t be content in a perfect life, and that wasn’t fair to all the people he loved. He knew he had loved her, still loved her beyond thought, but she was better without him. She was an angel, a goddess, a creature of divine proportions. And she was gone. And Lister knew she wasn’t coming back.

If the real Kristine Kochanski could have seen the imaginary world that Lister had created for the both of them, she probably wouldn’t have recognised herself. It was a life that could never have existed anywhere except in _Better than Life _and Kochanski was rather more human than it had ever given her credit for. If she had seen herself in the game, it might have put her off her lunch. Such is the danger of obsessing over those you fancy.

But Lister didn’t know this, and as he sniffed, mopping the last tear tracks with a handkerchief and swallowing, he resumed his walk towards the jail to meet with the woman who claimed she knew him. With each step, he felt a little more real, with each breath, a little less dreadful. Much to his chagrin, Lister knew something; Life, even in Bedford Falls, was never boring around Trixie LaBouche.

\---

“You ain’t got no shame, have you lady?”

The portly guard glared at the tart. The tart glared back, zipping her breasts back into the jailhouse issued jumpsuit as she did so.

“Where’s Lister?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

“I took Mr Lister for an honest man, I did,” he said, refusing to answer, glare never shifting.

“Your mistake then, wasn’t it?” She snorted, “Is he coming or not?”

“I’m starting to wonder whether you aren’t one of them con artists, what pretends to know a man just so she can ruin his dignity and steal him away for herself,” the man said shrewdly, narrowing his eyes.

The tart rolled her eyes back at him.

“Dignity? God, perhaps I don’t know him. The only Lister I know has about as much dignity as a regurgitated poppadum.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Prove that you know him.”

“Oh we’re really doing this? Fine,” Trixie smiled passively at the man, already knowing that this was a test she could easily pass. “His first name is David but he goes by Dave. His two sons are called Jim and Bexley, after Jim Bexley Speed-“ this fact was accompanied with an eyeroll, “-he has a tattoo on his inner thigh that he got after losing a bet – it says “I love Peterson” - though he might have had that removed now. His left elbow dimples when he puts on his socks. And er… oh, he’s got two little moles on his left-hand shoulder. Believe me now? I could go on.”

“You ain’t got feelings for ‘im, ‘ave you?”

“_What?_” The screech echoed through the jailhouse and managed to make it all the way to Lister who was waiting outside. “Feelings? _Feelings?” _Trixie dissolved into nervous, disbelieving giggles.

“I’m just saying. Nobody notices how many moles someone has unless they’re proper studying them all the time. Not like I want to believe that, but you can’t help noticing.”

Trixie stuttered for several seconds but couldn’t seem to find the right words to defend herself.

The man snorted, her lack of a response an answer in itself.

“Lowlife like you? Well, I suppose everyone’s gotta love someone. But you ain’t no lady and you sure as hell don’t got no business busting up the town like you did. I still can’t believe Mr Lister would do sommat like that -“ The guard gestured at her body, “- but I hope you’re happy together,” he finished with a sneer, sounding like he hoped for anything _but. _

Trixie stood wide-eyed and frozen for a few seconds, before stumbling backwards in her cell and turning away from the guard, hands tucked into the too-long sleeves of the jumpsuit.

“Tell me if he shows up,” she said listlessly, folding herself down onto the hard metal cot. With a mental determination borne out of years of practice, she turned her thoughts to escape, and whether it would be possible with a pocket nail file. She resolutely did not think of Dave Lister or the guard’s implications. What did he know anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister meets Trixie LaBouche, has a conversation with her and discovers her identity. Some reference is made to testicle handcuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 2, and right on schedule! Cheers to everyone who’s kudoed or commented so far - your kindness keeps me motivated <3

Lister had become depressingly well acquainted with the view of the tops of his shoes. They were not interesting. They were brown, dull, and thoroughly practical. And they were the only thing he could bear to look at as he hovered outside the prison. 

Fortunately, Trixie’s scream of “ _ What?”  _ had shattered this shoe-based introspection and had also sent a few vultures fluttering up into the sky before they crashed back down and continued hopefully picking through rubble.

But it sounded like no further outbursts were imminent and Lister knew he would have to face the music at some point. Even if the  _ music _ was going to be more painful than Rimmer’s organ recital nights.

As he swallowed whatever was left of his pride, Lister walked into the prison and was met by Bert, the village policeman who was now looking at him as if he was a city-slicked hardened criminal with a body odour problem. Lister thought he might deserve this, but also thought that Bert didn’t have to be so open about it. There was a lot to be said for private disgust.

“Bert, I don’t know her,” he insisted, already knowing that attempting damage control was futile at this point.

“Well she sure knows you. You got two little moles on your left-hand shoulder?” he asked.

“No,” Lister lied.

“You want to prove that?”

Lister shook his head and looked back at his shoes, “Bert, I really  _ don’t _ -“ he tried.

“Save it. Your Kristine, that’s what I call a lady. Be a cold day in hell before you searched through her handbag and found a pair of testicle handcuffs,” Bert shook his head with infinite sadness. “Trash,” He hoisted his thumb and Lister slid sheepishly down the corridor.

Testicle handcuffs? Well no, Krissie certainly hadn’t had any of them. Lister could feel himself blaze red and squashed the voice of his inner sexual-deviant which was rather wishing that he had known Trixie La Bouche after all.

Bert unlocked the cell door and nodded Lister inside. 'You got five minutes,' Bert said, curtly. 'Any funny noises and me and my nightstick'll be through that door before you can say "Irma La Douce”.'

“Lister!” the woman brightened, uncrossing her legs and looking up at him eagerly, “Thank God. I didn’t think you were going to come.”

Lister narrowed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. Anger was doing battle with the fact that her whole manner was strangely endearing.

Anger won.

“You didn’t think I was going to come? You  _ didn’t-“  _ Lister forced himself to take a deep breath and deal with the most pressing issue first, “How do you know me?” he practically growled, sitting down on the metal chair next to the bed and then scraping it as far away from her as possible.

The woman looked at her hands shyly, her lashes flicking up as she looked back at him and smiled nervously.

“You don’t know how relieved I am to see you,” she sighed, deflecting the question, “You’ll never believe what I’ve been through.”

“I’m  _ sorry? _ What  _ you’ve  _ been through? Oh yes, I’m sure it’s a very emotional experience driving a ten-tonne truck through my town and ruining my life. Yes that must have been so  _ hard  _ for you.”

Trixie raised her chin in a silent challenge.

“How in  _ smeg- _ ” Lister enunciated, his eyes blazing like fire, “-do you know me?”

The woman’s mouth opened, apparently thought better of it, and slowly closed again. She looked at him shrewdly, a smirk twitching the corners of her mouth.

“If I tell you, you’ll stop looking at me like you  _ are,”  _ She sounded unbearably smug and Lister felt the back of his neck grow hot.

“Oh? And how am I looking at you?” Lister dared back.

“Well, let’s just say I’ve been trying to spot the chicken korma that’s making you look like a starving man at a banquet,” The smug grin turned even smugger. “You always were predictable.”

“You’re  _ sick.” _

“Lister, you are looking at me like you want to  _ consume  _ me!” Trixie’s chest flushed red under the partially unzipped jumpsuit as she leaned closer, practically hissing the words at him, “You’re looking at me like you wish the rotund little policeman wasn’t watching us, because you’re already thinking about all those hammed-up prison-based porn videos you have in your disgusting collection! And don’t even try to lie about it, because I’ve  _ seen _ them. And I’ve… seen that look before,” She looked down at her hands quickly, her expression showing something that Lister didn’t understand.

“Well, you’re  _ wrong _ ,” Lister seethed, hoping to smeg that he wasn’t lying, “I was _ happy _ with my life.”  _ Were you?  _ Asked his subconscious, “It’s your fault I’m even here at all! So, sorry if you’ve got the wrong idea,  _ sunshine,  _ but I’m not feeling particularly conjugal towards you right now.”  _ Yes you are. She intrigues you. _

There was a beat of tension, crackling like dead wires.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Trixie whispered eventually “I ruin everything. I ruined my life, now yours is all gone too. I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry. I just… I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I tried to leave you alone but I couldn’t get out and-” she sniffled, apparently surprising herself as she burst into exhausted tears. 

Lister was nothing if not a gentleman and, although Trixie was undoubtedly  _ correct  _ in her assessment of the situation, Lister couldn’t bear to see a woman cry.

“Here now,” he said softly, his anger falling quickly away until it was replaced with an aching compassion. It raised dim memories of his time on the Dwarf, when Rimmer said something so pitiful that Lister couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Hoping he wouldn’t think better of it, he approached the bed and sat down next to her, tentatively putting his arm around Trixie’s shoulders and squeezing.

To his alarm, this caused a fresh wave of sobbing and the woman buried her face in perfectly manicured hands.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok,” Lister soothed, panicking internally as he rubbed his hands in calming circles on her back.

“It’s  _ not,”  _ quavered the tear-strained voice, “I just wanted you to be  _ h-happy _ .”

The rotund guard poked his head around the door and sent an unimpressed glare at them both, but Lister really didn’t have anything else to lose at this point, so he ignored him.

“Um, here,” Lister proffered a monogrammed handkerchief to the woman. She gave it a tearful look before wrinkling up her aquiline nose and looking at him as if he’d just offered her a dead mouse.

“Just trying to be helpful,” he mumbled, but he was relieved to note that the sobbing had subsided slightly. He tried to catch the woman’s eye and send her a gentle smile, but she was resolutely avoiding his gaze, tears still tracking mascara down her cheeks.

He reached out his hands, his lips soft and concerned as he took her cheeks and gently swiped away the moisture with his thumbs.

“Please don’t,” her lip wobbled and Lister quickly withdrew his hands, “You’ll regret it in a minute,”

Lister put his hands in his lap and looked down at them, listening to the sounds of Trixie gaining her composure. Regret it? That was an odd thing to say. She was beginning to give him the impression that she was slightly unhinged, which would make sense of a great deal.

Eventually, the woman let out a long breath of air and sat up on the bed, brushing her hands down her thighs as she hastily swiped away the tears that still lingered on her cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” she said briskly, rubbing her nose and blinking several times. She laughed shakily “This body is a tad highly strung. The other day I started crying at a picture of a _kitten_, can you believe that? But then, I was about to start my period which, smegging _hell, _you would not believe the sort of unimaginable _ordeal _that that is.”

Lister blinked at her, confused and just a tad bit owlish.

“Oh grow up, Listy,” deadpanned the woman, clocking his uncomfortable expression. “Imagine  _ living  _ with it. Thought it was my psyche playing tricks on me for a while but I don’t think even my brain could come up with something as horrific as that.”

“Wait-”

“Hmm?”

“No, now hang on. Hang on.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“What do you mean ‘your psyche’? Why are you calling me  _ Listy _ ? No one calls me that. Except-“ Lister made a squawking sound in the back of his throat before relaxing. No,  _ it couldn’t be. _ He was being ridiculous.

Reality hit him a moment later with all the subtlety of a breeze block as the woman’s face fell and she bit her fist, face contorted in anguished-regret.

“Oh god. Oh  _ god.  _ It is you. You’re… you’re-“ Lister backed his way across the bed until he was practically climbing up the wall. He stuck out an accusatory finger, “ _ You!”  _ he shrieked. “You ruined my life!”

“You’ve got me confused with somebody else,” the woman tried to smile winningly.

“ _ I know it’s you, Rimmer _ !” Lister howled.

“Please don’t shout.”

“I can’t believe you!” Lister begrudgingly deflated, but continued to glare.

“I suppose you have questions-“

“Not really, no. Get out of my life and leave me alone.”

“Oh, what a practical guy you are! How do you suggest I ‘get out of your life’ then? Saw through the bars with a pocket nail file? Trust me, I’ve tried. We need to leave the game Lister. I tried earlier but it wouldn’t let me out – it’s making us leave all together, the way we came in.”

“I will pay your bail, and that’s  _ all,”  _ Lister said quietly, _ “ _ You can leave, and I can put my life back together,” The treachery of his inner voice nearly tore down his argument, with the suggestion that he could never put his life back the way it was. That he’d passed the point of no return. That he wanted something more than the game had been giving him. 

That he wanted  _ this.  _

Lister abruptly raised himself from the bed, wrenched the chemical toilet from the wall and dumped the contents over Rimmer’s head.

Rimmer thought that - all things considered - it had gone rather better than expected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister has a hard time wrapping his head around Trixie LaBouche-as-Rimmer, and Bedford Falls grows more awful by the second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Righto! Chapter's a bit late this week but existence decided to pull a fast one and I've been scrambling a bit. Also this chapter was unimaginably rude and kept trying to struggle out of my grip, so hopefully it's not too messy as a result. Enjoy :)

Lister’s life savings had just changed hands, leaving him with a void in his stomach to match the one in his bank account. He knew what was happening. Everything that had connected him to this life in Bedford Falls was being taken away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

Bert’s thick fingers had smacked the stack of ten single dollar notes and declared that he ‘hoped she was worth it’.

She certainly _wasn’t_, but Lister couldn’t help wondering why exactly the game had made sure to give him the precise amount of money needed to cover Rimmer’s bail. Not a penny more. Not a penny less. 

Lister was starting to think the game might know more about him than he did. The thought scared him so he ignored it, instead focusing on the ghastly silence that hung between him and Rimmer as they left the prison.

Through necessity, they were forced to go slowly along Main Street, walking in single file as they dodged the piles of rubble and small fires that pockmarked the path. To Rimmer’s credit, he did look truly miserable. A large cross wouldn’t have looked out of place on his stooped shoulders, but Lister didn’t particularly care. From where he was following Rimmer, Trixie’s tramp stamp, declaring her name in bold cursive peeked at him above the edge of Rimmer’s skirt and Lister threw his gaze upwards, glaring at the grey, ash-filled clouds. 

Why couldn’t he have kept the prison jumpsuit?

Rimmer shivered in the evening air and Lister sighed, rubbing his forehead as he listened to the muffled chattering of Rimmer’s teeth. 

Despite everything, chivalry wasn’t dead.

“Here,” he said, touching Rimmer’s shoulder gently. Trixie turned, looking at him quizzically. Lister could see the lights of small fires reflected in her eyes and quickly tilted his head down, shrugging out of his trenchcoat and handing it over to her.

Rimmer looked at it for a moment, before his face softened.

“Thank you,” Rimmer’s hands barely reached the ends of the coat sleeves and it looked like he’d stumbled into a tent, but he seemed genuinely grateful.

“It’s fine. Look,” Lister waved at a row of parked cars, “Pick one of these and leave. No one will mind.”

Rimmer blinked at him for a moment, trying to process the sudden jump from kindness to callous indifference. 

“Smegging _hell_,” he spluttered, glaring at him from behind pencilled in eyebrows, “I’ve explained this to you! We’ve got to leave the game – all of us. We’ll never get back to reality otherwise.”

“What is there for me in reality?” Rimmer made an expression that was impossible to read on the unfamiliar face. Lister ignored it. “I’m sure I can fix it. Get Krissie back, and the boys. But _you-“ _he stuck his finger into Rimmer’s chest, “-need to _leave _before I can do that.”

Suddenly, a loud boom, accompanied by a mushroom cloud of fire erupted in the distance.

They both watched it bloom and fade.

“Stop it! Just stop it!” Lister fumed.

“You don’t understand! Things like this are just going to keep happening-“

Rimmer interrupted himself with a squawk as a panicked stampede of families rushed past, jostling them into each other. Rimmer clung desperately to Lister’s sleeves, trying to keep himself upright.

Both of them noticed how warm the other was.

Then the stampede moved on.

Lister watched as they headed towards tall, belching chimney stacks.

“The nuclear power plant is hiring,” Rimmer explained quietly, setting himself upright. He looked at the other man, noticing how blank he looked. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, touching Lister tenderly on the shoulder. “Don’t get too down; none of it really exists.”

“You must have a hell of an appetite for Dextrol fluid, Rimmer,” Lister replied in a monotone.

Rimmer’s hand twitched on Lister’s shoulder, tilting his peroxide head in acknowledgement. “I should…” he looked off into the distance then nodded, his mind made up, “You’re right. I’ll go.”

Rimmer squeezed Lister’s shoulder once, before taking a few steps towards the strip of parked cars. 

He stopped, half-turning to look at Lister. “I hope-“ he started, then shook his head, as if he’d forgotten what he’d meant to say, or choked on it. Instead, he smiled sadly at Lister, “Well, goodbye.”

Lister watched as Rimmer walked across the concrete, a flapping silhouette that began to grow smaller amongst the orange light of the street fires. 

It was the walk of someone beaten down and exhausted, and desperately trying not to show it. It was a walk that Lister recognised as irrevocably ‘Rimmer’, even in the body of someone else.

Lister knew, without even looking behind him, that the town was being razed to the ground. 

He watched, and he knew why the first car that Rimmer tried wouldn’t start. 

He knew why the next one had a punctured tire. 

And he knew that it wasn’t Rimmer’s fault. 

Rimmer had decided to leave, but it was Lister’s psyche that couldn’t bear to watch him walk away. 

By the time Lister caught up to him, Rimmer had reached the last car in the row. A look of understanding passed between them, followed by Rimmer getting into the driver’s seat. 

He considered the pedals for a moment before saying “Actually, perhaps you’d better drive. I’ll cause another accident in these shoes.”

“Why don’t you just take them off?” Lister asked, desperately attempting to ignore the unspoken tension, even as he helped Rimmer out of the car and put himself in the driver’s seat. 

“I can’t reach the peddles. I’m only 5’2” now.”

\---

_You are now leaving Bedford Falls. Thank you for visiting our town!_

One of Lister’s hands was gripping the steering wheel in a stranglehold. The other was trying desperately to massage the thoughts out of his throbbing head.

He was having a hard time figuring out what to focus on. Thinking about the ruined landscape of his hometown and life in general was _not _a pleasant train of thought, but it was one he could barely avoid. The fires, the nuclear power plant, the new high-security prison. Krissie. The boys.

And Rimmer, standing in the middle of it all.

Smeg did Lister want to blame him; it would be entirely justified. But it also wouldn’t be entirely _true. _Because in some way, Lister knew that seeing Rimmer had been a relief. Just knowing he was there had made Lister feel more connected to existence, in some sort of not-entirely-superficial way. Of course, it was utterly ruined by Rimmer’s behaviour, but…

Lister’s hand clenched the steering wheel so hard that his fingernails began to leave marks in the pleather.

But if it hadn’t been Rimmer’s fault, then it had been _his._

Lister sucked in a breath and ignored the intrusiveness of the thought.

What somehow made it even worse was the way Rimmer had looked at him. The apology in his eyes, the tender way that Rimmer touched his shoulder as they watched the wreckage spiral out of control around them…

Then the sudden, surprising warmth of Rimmer’s body as he clutched at him, knocked forwards by the stampede of families, all vying for jobs at the power plant.

Lister blushed, glad that it wouldn’t be apparent in the low evening light.

And that was a train of thought indeed. A train with flashing neon lights and tits on the front.

Rimmer. _Rimmer. _Trixie LaBouche, with her peroxide hair and laddered fishnet stockings. Her eight inch heels and bright red lipstick that reeked of ‘sex’ was _Rimmer._

Lister wasn’t sure if he’d fully processed this yet, but it was definitely a _Problem, _with a capital ‘P’.

“Pull in here,” came Rimmer’s soft voice from the passenger seat.

Lister bit his lip and nodded. Rimmer was still damp from the toilet and his makeup was running down his face. The wavy blond locks were now bedraggled strands that dripped down his neck and cleavage. Lister was relieved that the chemical toilet had dampened (no pun intended) Rimmer’s overall smuttiness, but not by _enough _apparently.

Fervently, Lister tried to remember the last time he’d had sex with Kochanski, in a misguided attempt to rein in inappropriate thoughts. To his dismay, he realised that he _couldn’t remember. _Hot-blooded man like him? It must have happened. At least _once_ for crying out loud. There were the twins, weren’t there?

“You’re being very twitchy,” Rimmer observed, watching Lister’s fingers drum against the steering wheel.

“Why are we here?!” Lister threw his hands up in the air, gesturing at the randomness of the location.

“It’s a long way to Cat’s castle and, as you’ve probably noticed, I’m not really in a position to call in my private jets anymore.”

“And?”

“_And_ we’ll have to sleep at some point Miladdo. I don’t know about you, but narrowly avoiding a night of heavy soliciting, crashing a juggernaut through an entire town and then nearly drowning in a chemical toilet has me smegging _bushed_.”

Lister was very tempted to rejoinder that at least two of those things had been entirely Rimmer’s fault, but bit his tongue. Getting into an argument _now _wouldn’t help anything.

“That’s all very well, but I just spent my life savings on your bail.”

“Oh it’s alright, I have a bit of cash.”

Without preamble, Rimmer thrust a hand between his breasts, withdrawing a selection of crumpled bank notes which he dropped into his lap.

“Classy.”

“Better than pockets. People don’t search you there.”

“I won’t ask you where the money’s from.”

“Thank you.”

Lister threw open his door and stepped outside. What he wouldn’t do for a cigarette right now. To his immense surprise, he found a stray one floating around in his trouser pocket. 

“Oi, Rimmer,” he called over the car’s roof as Rimmer clambered out of it, “Is there a lighter in one of those pockets?”

“Um,” Rimmer dug his hands into the depths of the coat, “Doesn’t look like it,”

_Smegging typical._

“Oh no, hang on a mo. There’s a hole in this one-“ Rimmer plunged his hand into the lining of the coat, withdrawing a zippo and looking at it critically. “Got one. Doesn’t look like there’s much juice in it though.”

Lister walked quickly round to join him, hoping to intercept him before he tried the lighter. The way his luck was going, there’d only be one good flame left in it.

Too late, Trixie’s soft fingers had already snicked the top and let a small flame out the top of the canister. Lister rushed to put his mouth to the flame, cupping his hands around Rimmer’s as he shielded the fire from the night-time breeze

When he looked up, cigarette lit and his hand on Rimmer’s cool one, he knew exactly what he saw in Rimmer’s eyes. He pretended not to know.

He was rather worried that it might have been in his eyes too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, or a major (and I mean major) leaflet campaign all do wonders for my motivation and energy levels ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer and Lister end up at a motel and Rimmer discovers that spending a whole day in heels is murder on your feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly two weeks on from last time, but still! Two chapters at once has got to count for something, right?

“You couldn’t have picked a better spot, could you?” Lister said quickly, straightening up and looking away from Rimmer as if his gaze was burning him.

Rimmer shrugged.

“The way my psyche is at the moment, it’s the best we’re going to get.”

They both looked at the motel. It was sleazy, clearly filthy and exactly the sort of place that disgraced husbands might go to hook up with their local home-wrecker.

Lister had been to his fair share of sleazy motels in his time. He wasn’t proud of it, but it beat out a storage locker any day of the week. Even so, he had rather thought he’d moved on from that time in his life. Three million years into the future, and he’d only gone backwards.

“Right,” he said hopelessly. The air was chilly and Lister watched as Rimmer drew his borrowed coat tighter around himself, “Let’s get it over with then.”

Lister took a few last drags on his cigarette before he dropped it and scrubbed it out under the toe of his boot.

Rimmer attempted to follow the pace that Lister set - the quick step of a man embarrassed by everything he’d become - but his feet ached dreadfully in the heels and all he could manage was a slow wobble.

“Prick,” Rimmer muttered to himself, watching Lister get further and further away. Finally, after what seemed a small eternity, Lister noticed that his begrudging travelling companion was no longer with him and looked back to see Rimmer teetering on his heels like a new born giraffe.

“Good grief.”

He stomped back towards the car.

“It’s your own fault for wearing such ridiculous shoes!”

“If it was up to me, _Miladdo,_ I’d be wearing cowboy boots that cost more than your entire quaint little town _put together_. You think I wanted to wear these? _These?_” Rimmer gestured down at his legs. “Even ballet pumps would be better than these torture devices! I didn’t get a choice in what the pimps put me in!”

“Nothing’s ever your fault, is it Rimmer? You’re the one in control of the game, you know?” Lister sighed, knowing that his words fell on deaf ears. “Besides, if you can’t walk in them, why don’t you take them off?”

Rimmer didn’t see the point in opening his mouth, just deliberately raised one of his feet and let it crunch down onto the warped glass of a broken beer bottle, letting Lister listen as he ground the shards beneath his heel.

“Is that answer enough for you?” Rimmer snarled, before cringing as the weight of his leg settled back into the tips of his toes. He jumped when he felt something touch his arm, before realising that it was Lister, apparently offering assistance in the most aggressively silent way he could possibly muster.

In fact, he’d been in an uncharacteristically bad mood since they’d run into each other. This left Rimmer at a bit of a loss. He was used to being the most uppity member of their party, and now he wasn’t sure what to do with himself; whether he’d have to be cheery or leery to make up for the distinct lack of either.

But as Lister performed a jolly good impression of Oscar the Grouch wrapping his arm around a woman’s waist, Rimmer couldn’t help thinking that maybe everything wasn’t quite so bad. Maybe he could get used to this version of himself.

He wished he wasn’t thinking it, but there it was.

The fact of the matter was that he _liked _it. He liked being held by Lister and he _liked-_

Actually - smeg that last thought - he didn’t like anything about this. Smegging hell_, _Lister really knew how to ruin a moment.

“Easy there Guv’ner,” Lister’s hand on his waist had turned into a metalworking vice as it hustled Rimmer along at a pace that seemed wholly unnecessary. It probably had something to do with the wolf-whistles that were being aimed at them from various directions but right now, Rimmer really couldn’t give a flying smeg about the implications. The only thing increased speed could do was get him to a tube of Blistex faster, and knowing his psyche like he did, he thought this was disappointingly unlikely. “Stop gripping me so hard!”

Lister’s fingers relaxed marginally, but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge the woman clamped against his left hip.

Unbeknownst to the woman, Lister was going through his own round of internal agony (perhaps not _quite _comparable to the pain of the heels, but certainly close). More specifically, he was desperately trying to slay the foul-breathed feelings that had raised their ugly heads and started breathing down his neck the minute he realised that this was Rimmer wearing a woman-suit.

It shouldn’t have made such a difference. But somehow, it _did._

The monstrous feelings cackled triumphantly as he put up a weak resistance, only weakened further by the insistent press of Rimmer against his side.

A veritable smegging-damsel-in-distress. Well, Rimmer had always seemed like the type, hadn’t he?

Fairy-tale metaphors aside, Lister couldn’t help the inevitability of rewriting their history together, imagining that Rimmer had been a woman through the whole of it. With mounting horror, he was starting to realise that their fighting had sometimes sounded like flirtatious banter, or that the constant bickering seemed a lot like the attention grabbing mis-steps of teenagers with an unacknowledged crush.

If Rimmer had been a woman through it all, neuroses or not, smegheadedness or not, they certainly would have ended up in bed together. Or headed that way, at the very least.

Although softlight… well that was a spanner in the works, wasn’t it? 

Then perhaps… perhaps it would have been exactly the same.

The fighting. The - Lister accidentally squeezed Rimmer’s hips too hard which earned him a glare - the flirting. All the same.

Woman or not. 

Lister didn’t like the conclusion that his poor, overworked mind was trying to coax him towards. He felt like he needed a very stiff drink and a meditative retreat in the French Alps to work through all this at his own pace, but his psyche didn’t feel like providing. Perhaps it was something of a big ask, but he thought he deserved it after the day he’d had.

For no reason other than feeling like he _should, _he suddenly squinted against the night. The dirty fog that had been shrouding the motel until now had begun to lift, presumably under the hot glare of the streetlight, and Lister had to blink several times before he realised that he was looking at a semi-distant mountain. Mount Blanc, if he wasn’t very much mistaken.

The French-smegging-Alps.

Lister rolled his eyes before squinting further. Was that…? Well, it certainly _looked _like a wooden chalet. He risked a glance at Rimmer. The man was apparently too tired to even complain, staring doggedly at his feet as he tried to avoid the eight-inch heels catching in each other. Lister slowed and Rimmer looked at him briefly, following his eye-line to the chalet before looking hurriedly back down at his shoes. Rimmer was clearly exhausted but still, Lister reasoned, he could probably make it to the much nicer, wooden hotel-

Lister’s thoughts were stopped in their tracks as the wooden chalet suddenly burst into flame, great plumes of smoke billowing up into the air.

“Sorry,” Rimmer winced.

“Looked like it might have been nice,” said Lister, his voice heavy with tired resignation.

“We could never have afforded it anyway.”

“Thanks for your wisdom, Little Miss Sunshine. How about dialling down the pessimism before we get killed by it?”

Rimmer shrugged, taking the opportunity to pry Lister’s fingers out from where they were leaving dents in his waist and resettling them on an unbruised portion of his hip. Lister let him, ignoring the tingling on his skin where Rimmer touched him. He was probably just cold.

“My psyche versus yours…” Lister murmured, watching as the chalet crumbled away to nothing in the distance. The mountain looked less impressive now too. Now that they were closer, Lister realised that the thing was little more than a muddy hill, complete with a few weeds straggling about near the bottom. “…I wonder whose will win.”

“Mine,” Rimmer replied as they continued on towards the doors, “Say what you like, but optimism can’t beat out pure self-loathing. The sooner we can all get out and away from my psyche, the better.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister continues to reflect on his feelings and comes to a dreadful realisation. Rimmer finally gets to take off the high heels.

To Lister’s relief, the sleazy motel didn’t look like it was going to catch fire anytime soon. He wasn’t sure it _could _catch fire – everything within it felt damp, like the walls were sweating.

He pursed his lips and tried to ignore the knowing catcalls that followed him and Rimmer up to the front desk. Well yes, it _looked _like he was taking a prostitute up for a quickie, but really… he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to look less awful than he felt.

“One night, two singles please,” he asked.

The bellhop looked at him boredly.

“Let’s skip the chat man. It’s late, I don’t have the energy for your silly ‘oh we’ll be sleeping in single beds’ dance.”

Rimmer and Lister both spluttered.

“As if I’d sleep next to _him_!” Rimmer hissed across the desk.

The bellhop yawned and slumped lower onto his palm.

“You picked this profession sweetheart. Fine, I’ll do you two singles - £90 for the night,”

“Right, £19,” Lister began to count out the notes and hoped the bellhop wouldn’t notice how crumpled they were from being stuffed down Rimmer’s bra.

“Ah ah ah, _ninety” _the bellhop corrected, elongating the ‘_teee’._

“You must be joking,” Rimmer looked at him in undisguised shock. They didn’t have that much money. Not even close.

“Well let’s see, there’s the late check in fee, access to the bar included, ensuite in both rooms. It’s fairly standard pricing these days,”

Lister looked at Rimmer with a look that plainly said ‘this is your fault’.

“How much-“ he began, pinching the bridge of his nose again, “-how much for a double room?”

“Same amenities – 50 squids,”

They did have that much. _Just. _

It left them two pounds over for emergencies. So if the emergency had required say, a double box of painkillers and a bottle of cheap shampoo, they might have been alright.

“Smegging daylight robbery!” Lister was grumbling at various intervals. Rimmer would have loved to join in with the complain-brigade, but he was having to stave off any and all thoughts of losing his toes, lest his psyche suddenly decide that losing his toes was exactly what he deserved right now.

In all fairness to the slob, Lister’s support _was _helping.

His killer grip had relaxed and the lack of people around had meant that he was slightly less concerned about how this all looked. Rimmer could feel the warm brush of his thumb against his midriff and sighed, leaning closer against Lister as he tried to take more of the weight off his feet.

“Here we are,” Lister declared suddenly, trying to distract himself from the hair that was tickling against his neck, “Ladies first.”

Rimmer scowled and unlocked the door.

The room was exactly as unpleasant as expected, yet still somehow a disappointment.

Rimmer delicately stepped over the threshold, wobbling over to a chair and groaning with relief as he sat down. The chair creaked out a threat, but Rimmer was too busy fiddling with the straps on the shoes to pay it any mind.

With a very small scream, he pried the first heel from his foot and tried not to weep.

Lister rolled his eyes and pulled the door shut, fiddling with the lock for several moments. Secure enough to keep out a not-very-persistent toddler.

With another small scream, the second shoe plummeted to the floor and Rimmer pressed both feet flat against the worn carpet with a wail of agony.

“Good _god _must you be so dramatic?” Lister said, exasperated.

“Yes,” Rimmer groaned, wiggling his toes against the carpet and monstrously surprised that he could feel them at all. “You have no idea of the pain, the_ injustices_ that this body suffers. Do all women feel like this? Or is it just a special brand of hell that my psyche has cooked up for me?”

Lister shrugged, bustling around the room and checking that all the lights worked, that the blind would pull down and that there weren’t any used condoms lying around.

“You’re avoiding looking at me,” Rimmer said, as if commenting on the weather.

“I’m not,” Lister denied vehemently, before realising that he’d addressed this comment to the bedside cabinet and looking up at Rimmer quickly. Rimmer looked at him smugly, before turning back to massage his aching feet.

“You are. You’ve been doing it pretty much all day,”

“Yes well, you did ruin my life in here. I’m trying to avoid another chemical toilet incident,”

“Right,” Rimmer said, looking at him shrewdly, “Speaking of which, I’m going to freshen up,”

He plucked a clean-ish white towel from the end of the bed and headed into the bathroom. There were several vicious thuds from behind the toilet door as Rimmer thumped it closed, then the running of water.

Lister sunk down onto the edge of the bed and gnawed his fingernail.

It burned him to admit that Rimmer was right, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the comment. Lister knew he had been avoiding looking at Rimmer pretty much since the incident in the prison, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

It wasn’t precisely intentional.

And it was at least _partially_ driven by his anger at the man.

But ‘anger’ and ‘Rimmer’ had always gone together like wine and cheese. Or lager and curry.

And Lister knew that he had missed the taste of it.

Lister also knew the main reason he hadn’t been looking at Rimmer. The _core _reason. Because seeing Rimmer in Trixie’s body was a fast-track ticket to Lister’s thoughts about him as something more than a daily irritant. Because Trixie was arousing in her own right. Because, combined with the fact he _knew _Rimmer, had perhaps even _liked _Rimmer, in a weird, antagonistic way, even before the game started…

Well, it was perversely arousing, wasn’t it? No two ways about that.

Lister moved on to chewing another fingernail, realising that he’d bitten the other one low enough to taste blood.

He was aroused by _Rimmer. _

The whole thing made his head ache worse than a hangover.

He tried to reason himself through it. Attractive woman, shared history, familiarity. Short skirt.

It was understandable, wasn’t it? A bit despicable and objectifying, yes, but understandable.

If it was actually _Rimmer’s _body…

Lister tried to imagine if it was Rimmer here – ordinary Rimmer, no curves, no heels, no makeup. Long beige shirt and long beige trousers. Well no actually, that wasn’t quite fair, was it? Put Trixie LaBouche in long beige shirt and long beige trousers and she probably wouldn’t be too hard to resist either. Fine, Rimmer in his underwear.

Rimmer in his underwear.

For the first time in his life, Lister let his thoughts on the matter run their course, unchecked and unhurried.

The result was rather far from PG-13.

Lister blazed red and tilted his head downwards, feeling the heat spread to the back of his neck as he rubbed his hands over his boiling cheeks.

His psyche was an absolute_ bastard. _

His psyche was an absolute bastard, with a hard-on for Arnold Rimmer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Rimmer's turn to have a realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be frank - this chapter has been knocking against my skull for weeks and if I didn't post it now I was just going to keep tweaking it until there was nothing left. So hopefully what has survived is readable... Thanks for sticking with me!

Rimmer struggled out of the shower after a small eternity of yanking at the door.

Lister didn’t even notice at first – he was too busy trying to come to terms with something that he should have known for _years. _

How could he have been so _stupid? _Rimmer had been right there the entire time… Perhaps that was it; the constant exposure hadn’t given him the chance to examine the feelings that had definitely morphed from antagonism into something embarrassing.

“Bathroom’s free,” Rimmer announced, levelling an unimpressed look at Lister who hadn’t acknowledged his presence. “Also, I don’t suppose you’ve got some clothes I could borrow?”

“Hmm?” Lister looked up, then sincerely wished he hadn’t. Rimmer was in a towel. Or rather, Rimmer’s bottom half was in a towel. The top half was being modestly squashed against his chest by one of his arms, covering up barely anything.

“Stop gawking,” Rimmer’s hair lay in damp strands across his shoulders and the makeup he’d been wearing had been viciously scrubbed away. His face was red and strangely fresh. It looked better than the tarted-up prostitute look had, anyway.

“Stop showing off then,” Lister felt his face go red and he quickly looked down at his knees. “Don’t you have your own clothes?”

“I don’t intend on sleeping in leather and fishnets, so _no. _Look, do you really think I’d be asking to borrow your clothes if I hadn’t hit lower than rock bottom?”

Lister rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his shirt and handing it to Rimmer who took it awkwardly in the hand covering his breasts.

“Thanks. Now wash.”

Lister stuck his tongue out at him.

“I will not sleep next to an unwashed Lister. Shower, _now,”_ Rimmer had turned away from him, clearly indicating that this was a non-negotiable point. 

He showered petulantly, noticing that Rimmer had used up all the hot water and ending the endeavour rather quickly. When he got out of the bathroom he found Rimmer sat on the bed, organising something in a basket.

“Did you know-“ Rimmer began, staring down at the basket in disgust before placing it back into the bedside drawer and slamming it shut “- that there are over 200 condoms in this room.”

“Sounds like you’ve been busy being useful. As usual.” 

“That’s not the best part. Only one of them is actually in date,” Rimmer gave an artificial sort of chuckle that trailed off into nothing. There were droplets of water tracing the lines of Lister’s collarbones and Trixie’s tongue darted out to whet her lips, tracing those same lines with her gaze.

Rimmer blinked and shook his head. All these female hormones must be getting to him. Despite this reasonable explanation, he felt his cheeks redden and hoped Lister would just think it was patches of blush that he’d forgotten to wash off.

“Well I’m sure you’re quite used to condoms going out of date, aren’t you?” Lister grinned.

“I’ll have you know that I have _standards, _Lister_. _Just because I don’t sleep with anything that shows a passing interest in me-“

“That’s because nothing _does _show a passing interest! You’ve got less interest than a starter bank account!”

“Oh yeah? Well how do you explain the Rimmerettes then?” Rimmer stood up and took a step towards Lister, tilting his peroxide head in a challenge. Lister couldn’t help admitting to himself that it gave him a thrill to see Rimmer’s frame in his clothes. Reminded him of old girlfriends, in a strange way. There was something in the height difference too; Rimmer really was _tiny _now, and the shirt he had borrowed came to just above his knees.

"Come off it Rimmer. We both know that they were about as real as a politician’s handshake," Rimmer scowled at him. “It really is quite sweet though."

"_What _is?"

"Well, you just want to be adored, don’t you? Always knew there was something genuine under that smeggy exterior," Lister had to stifle an unexpectedly fond smile that tried to leap onto his face.

“Shut up. It’s not sweet. It’s just sad,” Rimmer glared viciously at a square of particularly ugly carpet in a misguided attempt to hide the heat on his face.

“I think it’s nice.”

“You _would.”_

“It embarrasses you, doesn’t it? Admitting that you want to be loved?”

“Black card, Listy, _black card.”_

“Oh we’re back to the card system now?”

“If you’re going to keep saying those sorts of things, then _yes.”_

“What sort of things?”

“You know _exactly _what sort of things! Calling me ‘sweet’ for one thing.”

“Endearing then?”

“You’re on thin smegging ice Miladdo. V_ery_ thin ice,” Rimmer directed his glare back to Lister’s face.

“Cute?” Lister grinned and then had to seriously wonder about his sense of self-preservation as Rimmer’s glare managed to increase in intensity. He stepped right up to Lister, smiling like a snake as his expression suddenly softened and his voice came out in a delicate whisper.

"Oh _Listy. _Call me 'cute' again and the hotel will find you dead in the closet.”

Lister rolled his eyes at the melodrama before accidentally catching Rimmer’s eye with a look that wasn’t entirely antagonistic. He froze for a moment, hearing the tiniest hitch in Rimmer’s breathing as it caught against the cooling water on his neck.

The moment seemed to stretch into a tiny infinity, their eyes trapped in each other’s gaze, wide and nervous and something _else. _

Lister hurriedly tried to break the moment with a nervous laugh, turning away to look at the bed.

It had undoubtedly been the setting for several night-time liaisons if the number of contraceptives in the bedside cabinet was anything to go by, and this did not bode well for the Pandora’s Box of misery that could be lurking just beneath the sheets.

Warily and with baited breath, Lister peeled back the duvet to assess the state of the mattress. He blinked in surprise. Unstained. Nearly white in-fact.

He was so shocked by this that he could almost forget the tension that was permeating the atmosphere like a bad air freshener.

“Look at this.”

“Oh no,” Rimmer paled, “What is it?”

“It’s…nothing? No really, look.”

Rimmer looked in disbelief at the unstained material.

“Well well… I suppose we have your psyche to thank for this one?”

“Either that, or this motel knows its customer base.”

After the rigmarole of locating toothbrushes, toothpaste, and Rimmer’s hopeful hunt for a hairdryer, the clock had struck ten past midnight and they were once again forced to contemplate the bed.

Lister silently cursed the depraved bellhop for forcing this on them both. Sharing a bed _shouldn’t _have been different than before – technically they were always ‘sharing a bed’. But it was a bunkbed, which had two separate mattresses and _at least _three feet of difference between them at any given time.

‘Before’ also had the added bonus of being a time when Lister was blissfully unaware of the sexual tension that had reached bludgeoning proportions at this point.

“Which side-“

“Right,” Rimmer said quickly, dashing to his preferred side and throwing himself under the covers.

Lister mentally shrugged and switched off the main light, groping his way towards the bed before Rimmer took pity on him and put on his bedside lamp. It lent a dim illumination to the room, casting everything in stark shadows that stretched up the walls and along the floor.

“Cheers.”

Rimmer merely grunted in response, rolling over onto his side so he wouldn’t have time to react to the grateful smile that Lister threw at him.

Lister had spent an obscene amount of time trying to figure out whether wearing just boxers would somehow be deemed inappropriate. He could have smacked himself upside the head, because it was _Rimmer _and Rimmer had already seen everything. Or, not quite everything, but that much at least.

“Night.”

Rimmer grunted again and switched off the light.

Even without the lights on, the room was still rather bright. The amber of the streetlamps outside filtered through the too-thin blind and they could hear all the noises of the night clientele coming and going.

Lister drummed his fingertips against his chest. Sleep didn’t feel like it would come easily; he felt more wired than he had in… _years. _The soporific nature of Bedford Falls had been fine while it lasted, but now he felt _awake. _Properly awake. And perhaps it had something to do with sleeping in the same bed as Rimmer, mere inches away from him. Lister tried to battle against the inappropriate scenarios that started playing in his head. He really needed to distract himself.

He heard Rimmer turn aggressively onto his back and sigh, loudly.

“Still awake?” Lister whispered quietly.

There was a pause, punctuated by Rimmer twitching the sheets.

“Painfully,” came the muttered reply. 

“Yeah. Bit loud outside, isn’t it?”

“Bit loud _inside _too – shut up.”

“Sorry.”

“…It’s fine.”

The room fell silent, until Rimmer was sure that Lister must have fallen asleep.

He stared up at the ceiling, wishing the game would let him rest too_. But no. _His psyche had decided that he would be kept awake by thinking deeply on all the reasons that he’d found himself _here_, in this motel room, in this bed, with David-smegging-Lister.

Logically, Rimmer knew this was something he’d been ignoring for a while. Ever since the prison guard had asked why he knew how many moles were on Lister’s shoulder.

Smeg, who was he kidding? This had all existed a long time before that.

He blew out a long breath of air and watched the dust motes dance in its wake.

He couldn’t say when it first started or whether it had simply always been there, but the point was that it was _still _there and wasn’t going away, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

And smeg knew he had tried to fight it. He’d married Juanita, he’d lived a life that he _should _have wanted. He had wanted it, for a little while. But Lister was right; all he really wanted was to be adored by someone - really anyone would do - and his fake life had stopped giving that to him. So inevitably, his brain had caught up to the sham it was trying to pull on itself, ripped the veil from his eyes and Rimmer had barely had time to realise that the rug was gone from under his feet before he was falling into the black pit that lay below it.

Since then he’d been freefalling, tossed between harrowing encounters that seemed never-ending. And now he could feel the bottom of the pit screaming towards him, the end of it all.

The truth.

He was terrified. He was _terrified. _But even through his terror, he knew that it would come as something of a relief. He’d been falling for so long. The landing wouldn’t be pretty, he knew it wouldn’t be pretty, but at least then he could rest; He could assess the damage that it had all caused.

He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact.

Closer now, closer.

He winced, breathing through his teeth.

_Thud._

There it was.

Oh smeg, there it was.

The first thud was echoed by a series of quieter ones; Trixie’s heartbeat as it pounded in his ears.

He opened his eyes slowly, feeling Lister’s warmth at his side. There was barely space between them and it was the first time Rimmer could ever remember lying next to someone like this.

He could try to tell himself that it was just the novelty of the situation, but there really was no use in denying it now; even thinking about Lister sent Trixie’s heartbeat going like a clockwork toy.

That was what it all came down to, wasn’t it? A traitorous heartrate that couldn’t lie like a light-bee could.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer comes to terms with everything in the best way he can - internal panic and self-deprecation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's chapter 7, and not before time! There might be a bit of a wait for the next chapter (isn't there always?) because I've got exams to prepare for, but bear with me. I'll be back, and I'll come bearing fanservice. Thanks for sticking with me!

“Do you think we’ll be able to get out?” Lister suddenly whispered, startling Rimmer and earning him another whispered ‘sorry’.

“Of the game you mean?” Rimmer asked, trying to hide the fact that his voice was shaking from the realisation that had just walloped him in the gut with the force of a wooden mallet.

“Yeah.”

“Er-“ _Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think _“- well I should hope so. Every second I spend here is a living hell,” It wasn’t exactly a lie, especially after this latest revelation.

“It’s not much different though, is it? I mean, all this-“ Lister gestured vaguely, “It’s basically what we’re doing on the outside anyway.”

“Is it?” Rimmer was genuinely mystified by Lister’s assessment of the situation. “What, going to cheap motels? Stealing cars?”

“Well, no, not quite. But, oh, you know-“ Lister yawned and rubbed his eyes, “-Rimsy and Listy, against the world?”

Rimmer blushed redder than a tomato and was grateful that Lister wouldn’t see it. That sort of comment was _not _helpful after the conclusion he’d just come to.

“Exactly. That’s why it’s dreadful,” he whispered forcefully.

“You can’t think it’s _that _dreadful,” Lister rolled his eyes and sent him a knowing look.

His heartrate stuttered upwards again.

This whole business of having a pulse was starting to get on Rimmer’s tits.

“Lister, there’s a tattoo saying ‘Heaven this way’ on my upper _thigh._ Please tell me how that’s not dreadful. How this _body _is not dreadful-“ but he cut himself just slightly short on the last word.

Because the body _was_ disturbing. That wasn’t the issue in dispute. But now that Lister was here, and now that Rimmer had come to the horrifying and damning realisation that actually he _liked _Lister being here…

Rimmer pulled the thin duvet up to his nose and bit his fist under the covers.

The truth of the matter was that, since meeting Lister, the body was manageable. Smeg, it was even _fun _sometimes. Rimmer wasn’t stupid. He’d seen how the body was affecting Lister, remembered how Lister had looked at him in prison as if he was the buffet table at an Indian restaurant.

Rimmer couldn’t find it in himself to blame him.

It wasn’t Lister’s fault that he had always been weak for a pretty face and a damsel in distress. But Rimmer couldn’t help the jealousy that overtook him, the strange feeling of being jealous of your own body. Lister wanted a body called Trixie LaBouche_, _not neurotic-bunkmate Arnold Rimmer.

Thunder rolled outside, compounding Rimmer’s misery.

“That you?” Lister asked sleepily, indicating the lightning that flashed across the room.

It took a moment for Rimmer to understand that he was referencing his psyche, after which he shrugged.

“Sometimes a storm is just a storm.”

Silence floated down around them.

“It’s about time we left, isn’t it?” Lister finally said, voice low and quiet, as if he didn’t expect an answer. It was just something to say.

To try and stop thinking about Rimmer, he had turned his mind to Kochanski and the twins but the memories seemed to be fading, like half-remembered fever dreams. He knew the game was picking up on his needs, trying to loosen the memories like baby-teeth until they fell out and stopped meaning anything.

Encouraging him to get on with living.

He tucked his dreads more comfortably under his head, sighing softly.

That was the thing; he didn’t need to forget them. He needed to remember it all, and remember why it had stopped working. He _had _to remember the problems of that fake life, otherwise he’d keep making the same mistakes. Otherwise he’d go back to it; fake loved ones, responding to him in the ways he wanted. Unable to make their own decisions. He didn’t want that for them. They deserved to be free, remembered as they really were.

_When you love someone, sometimes it’s kindest to let them go. _

He felt his heart clench and a heavy sigh wobbled out of his chest.

“Lister?” his eyes flew open, looking at Rimmer as the man gingerly touched his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Rimmer opened his mouth as if to speak again, but thought better of it as Lister quickly covered the point of contact with his own hand and squeezed.

_And sometimes it’s kindest to hold on. _

Against the fakeness of Bedford Falls, this moment couldn’t have felt more real.

They lay like that for a while, not acknowledging it, until Lister sighed again and glanced at Rimmer.

“I’ll miss them,” he said truthfully, hiding the complexity of his thoughts in the simply admission.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Rimmer’s voice was quiet and miserable. He could feel the guilt eating away at him, coupled with the savage selfishness that had finally been revealed for what it really was. It was all just him wanting Lister, wasn’t it? This was what this had all been about. His psyche being desperately jealous and prepared to destroy anything and everything to get what it wanted. And if it could make Rimmer’s life unpleasant into the bargain? Well, all the better.

“I think I knew though… even before. I think I knew that it was all just pretend.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better,” Rimmer groaned, knowing that Lister couldn’t understand what he was talking about.

“I’m not. I’m just thinking out loud. I’m going to miss them more than anything but I-“ Lister’s mouth stuttered around the last word “- it just feels a bit like I was a kid, playing make believe, you know? And now I can’t seem to make the world come alive for me in the same way anymore.”

“I suppose I know how that feels,” Rimmer thought back to lunch with Napoleon and the Rimmerettes. It was all so embarrassing now.

“I don’t think it was your fault,” Lister said on a breath, squeezing Rimmer’s hand.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Rimmer stared at the ceiling, “You don’t know the half of it.”

The silence didn’t feel silent, not with Lister’s hand covering Rimmer’s. It was like that point of contact spoke for them, up until Lister interrupted it.

“You’ve changed, haven’t you?” he observed, patting Rimmer’s warm hand.

“Funny you should notice.”

Lister rolled his eyes at the man’s acerbic tone and started stroking the nails of Rimmer’s hand thoughtfully. Rimmer was caught between wanting to pull his hand away and just enjoying the sensation. He settled on being stressed about it, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Not _that _different. But just-“

“-Breasts and a face to launch a thousand ships? Banging bod? Oh trust me Listy, I’m _aware,_” This was fine. This was something he could manage. Antagonism. He just hoped he could keep it up until they were out of the game and this wasn’t so much of an issue any more.

“No!” Lister chuckled, more awake now as he released Rimmer’s hand and turned exasperatedly over to look at his face, “No, you seem less smegheaded somehow. Almost like you’re making an effort to be nice.”

Rimmer curled his lip.

“It’s called _exhaustion, _Lister.”

“Nah, I think you’ve got more...self-aware? Humble? I don’t know, but it suits you man.”

“Thanks very much for the insult.”

Lister rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, I take it all back. That’s the last time I go about complimenting you.”

“That was supposed to be a compliment? Smeg, limit it to physical attributes next time I beg you.”

“Alright Miss ‘banging bod’.”

The silence that followed felt like it was nine months pregnant. Lister swerved to avoid it.

“What even happened to your body?” he asked.

Rimmer sighed, propping his head up with an elbow and looking out at the amber light of the window. His face was barely lit and Lister thought that, like this, he could nearly make out something of Rimmer in Trixie’s features.

“Picture a really nice car. A classic jag, if you will -” Rimmer began wistfully, “- Now picture a hardened criminal hotwiring the car, filling it with gobs of spittle and joyriding it through the rougher parts of neighbourhoods, getting shot at, all while fiddling around with the gear stick far more than necessary-”

Lister stifled a snort of laughter.

“Oh no I’m not finished – and this is all assuming that my body is still alive, which I highly doubt at this point - but imagine further that the criminal who hotwired this classic jag decided that, as payment, he’d give the rightful owner a baby pink Beetle and call it a day. Talk about adding insult to injury. Also, and I’m going to have to kill the analogy here, but they then treated the baby pink Beetle as a household slave, cooking, cleaning, Kryten-ing, slapping its bumper and pimping it out.”

Lister was quiet.

“Not to mention the heels,” Rimmer added as an afterthought.

“I mean, baby pink Beetles aren’t _so _bad,” Lister said, glancing at Rimmer.

“Not so good either.”

“What’s it like?”

“Being a woman? Bit like being a man really. The breasts are more exhausting than you can imagine, but you don’t ever sit on yourself, which is a bonus. The way people treat you though! I mean, smegging hell, it’s like I became a barely sentient slab of meat.”

Lister was about to make a quip about Rimmer’s previous attitudes to women, but didn’t feel like the cheap shot would be worth it in this case.

“Why did your psyche do this to you?” Lister finally asked, genuinely curious.

“It _hates_ me,” Rimmer snarled, casting a glare upwards. It sounded like he meant more than he was saying, but Lister couldn’t decipher it further.

The silence stretched out.

“…_I _hate me,” he lay back down, rubbing two fingers over his brow. “I mean, everybody _does._ It’s always been fashionable, hasn’t it?”

With this admission, Rimmer snorted and turned abruptly on to his other side, signalling that the conversation was over.

Lister lay awake for some time, staring at Rimmer’s back.

“I don’t,” he whispered, but Rimmer was already asleep and didn’t appear to have heard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lister wakes up, goes back to sleep and makes a mistake.   
The bathroom door acts as a catalyst for fanservice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I really hope this all makes sense... I've been looking at this chapter for so long that I could practically recite the thing word for word.   
In other news, exams are over! Therefore I should hopefully be able to focus on posting slightly more regularly *fingers crossed*. And as a reward for waiting so patiently, here's an extra extra long chapter for you all.   
Heaps and hundreds of thanks to the kudos and comments that people continue to leave - they keep me accountable ;)

When Lister woke in the morning he felt exhausted and disorientated. He wobbled about in the mid-place between waking and sleeping before coming to the conclusion that a snooze wouldn’t hurt him, and drifting back under.

Vaguely, he felt the warmth of another body under his hands, a shirt brushing softly against his chest and the snuffling of someone else sleeping next to him. Smiling, he snuggled closer, inhaling the scent of shampoo and nuzzling his head into soft waves of hair. Underneath the shampoo there was something that smelt familiar, incredibly familiar. It was comforting, even with his inability to place it in his sleepy state.

As he clambered his way out of sleep, his hands began exploring, rucking up the woman’s shirt and teasing her midriff with his fingertips.

He heard the whisper quiet sigh of someone waking, and pressed his hand flat against her stomach, nuzzling her hair aside with his nose and placing a kiss on her neck. His eyes opened stickily and he saw the edge of a smile flicker on her face, fluttering eyelashes sending long shadows in the morning light that streamed through the blinds.

Lister didn’t recognise her for another two seconds, giving him just enough time to ruck her shirt up further, before the two synapses finally connected and he froze in mid-grope.

This led to a small disappointed sigh from the woman, before her eyes shot open with the realisation of the obvious, head turning back to look at Lister.

“Morning,” Rimmer said, _very_ slowly, an eyebrow raised. Lister’s eyes were the size of startled dinner plates.

“Sorry, shit sorry, thought you were Kochanski, fuck, shit, sorry, _smeg-”_

Lister scooted back across the bed, apparently not realising how narrow it was as he reached the edge and promptly fell off it.

Rimmer laughed at him, stretched and pulled down his shirt as he got out of the bed and padded into the bathroom.

Lister continued to burn in embarrassment on the floor for a few self-indulgent moments more, before pulling himself together.

Rimmer scrubbed his teeth with a vigour that only a dead man can muster. Smeg, wasn’t it disgusting hoping that Lister had thought he was Kochanski for just a few moments more? His psyche was a bitch, and a mean one, for teasing him with that. Although maybe it was just Lister’s fault, plain and simple.

He spat and grimaced at the mirror. He’d grown accustomed to the face he saw looking back at him – soft, supple. Exactly what Lister liked.

His frown deepened. This shouldn’t have been so difficult.

He was back in his outfit from yesterday – lacking any other clothes, the tart-wear would have to do.

He just wanted… well Lister had hit the nail on the head, hadn’t he?

_“You just want to be adored, don’t you?”_

Rimmer could deny it all he liked, but it was what he wanted more than anything. Just to be loved, to be held and adored unconditionally…

He sniffed vigorously, putting the sappy thoughts from his head.

He needed to be practical about this. Pragmatic. It was basic battle strategy.

Didn’t they say love was a battlefield? He wasn’t sure who had said that, but he thought it might be Ghandi. It was true either way.

And if they were going to leave the game, and if he was going to lose his body all over again, his sense of touch, his feeling, then was asking for a no-strings thing really all that dreadful?

A sort of free-trial of being adored for a while?

He let out a long breath, leaning against the sink and steaming up the mirror with his sigh.

Well yes, it really _was_ that dreadful. He just wanted Lister and was clearly trying to come up with some smeggy excuse to get that.

Rimmer pouted at himself and rouged his lips. It had become nearly force of habit these days.

Not to mention that those dreadful goons had been awfully prescriptive about it.

Quite to his reflection’s surprise, his face broke into a lopsided smile. Regardless of all the mental torment he was going through now, the truth remained; he had escaped. He was free. He didn’t have to cook or clean or withstand inappropriate gropes from a man wearing his old body like it was a loosely fitting hazmat suit.

There would be a cost of course, because there was always a cost, but perhaps he could just take a moment to wallow in something like anxious relief.

His reverie was interrupted by a volley of vicious knocks on the door.

“Piss off you bastard!” Rimmer yelled back.

“Rimmer you’ve been in there for ages!”

“Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean you can complain about me being in the bathroom!”

“It’s not ‘cause you’re a woman, it’s ‘cause I need a piss!”

Rimmer sighed and unhurriedly flicked the tiny mascara wand over his lashes before tucking it back into his purse.

“Rimmer!”

“Coming!” he warbled, pulling at the door. It refused to budge. “Door won’t open.”

“What?”

Rimmer pressed his lips to the door.

“The door won’t _smegging _open!”

Lister’s answering grumble was mostly obscured by the door.

“Stand back,” he said presently.

“What?”

Rimmer quickly found out ‘what’, when the door shuddered under the force of Lister’s shoulder and screamed open, sending a high-velocity scouser tumbling towards him.

Rimmer just had time to contemplate whether a broken nose would be the ‘cost’ associated with escaping his captors, before he caught the pin-wheeling man in a tangle of arms.

“You’re depressingly lucky, you know?” Rimmer remarked with a sneer, clocking the huge number of things that Lister _could _have hit his head on but somehow _hadn’t. _Not to mention the fact that he’d managed to get the door open in the first place.

Had it been Rimmer’s psyche at work, things would have been much worse.

Lister grinned up at him, righting himself in Rimmer’s embrace.

“Lucky to have you, you mean?” He quipped.

Rimmer turned a pretty shade of red that rivalled his lipstick, and Lister laughed anxiously, suddenly terrified that he’d overstepped a boundary. Where were the boundaries now? Were there any? With Rimmer, you could never quite tell whether the next comment would earn a smile or a three day argument.

Rimmer’s hands tightened on his back momentarily, before he finally spoke.

“It’s the other way round,” Rimmer muttered, “and you smegging know it.”

Lister looked at him then, _really _looked at him, and the gaze in Trixie’s eyes seemed to convey the entire shape of the man Lister knew.

“Rimmer?”

“What?” Rimmer’s voice had become suddenly hard, walls very firmly back in place as he dropped his hold on Lister and crossed his arms.

“Be a lady and let me have a piss?”

Rimmer’s face did at least try to offer up a half-smile as he turned and left the bathroom.

“You forget, Lister. I’m not a _lady. _I’m the ‘most dreadful sort of tart’,” he pouted back at him and Lister snorted a laugh before shutting the door behind him.

Back in the room, Rimmer covered his face with his hands and let out a gasp of air, collapsing down onto the bed.

That had been too smegging much – his could feel his pulse kicking up a storm in his chest.

He rearranged his hair, smoothing the strands that hung by his face and ruffling volume into the front of his hairline.

If only all these little touches weren’t so _accidental. _Lister was hardly helping matters, with his thrice-damned innuendo laden comments that he’d pull out when Rimmer was already feeling vulnerable.

He stood abruptly and opened the window, letting a cool spring breeze breathe over him. No doubt he’d get hayfever shortly, but he needed the air.

How hard was it to say: ‘Don’t stop, keep touching me’? How hard was that for Lister to understand? Really, this was all Lister’s fault – he should have realised how much Rimmer craved touch, how much he would need it after the senseless life he would go back to living as soon as they left the game.

It was enough to not want to go back. But Rimmer couldn’t trust his psyche to behave – it would catch up to him eventually.

Even without that, Lister couldn’t survive here forever. Death would saunter up him and reap him with a casual hand, all while Lister did nothing to stop it.

Rimmer was no stranger to death, but the idea of it when applied to Lister was so alien to him that he had to take a moment to think about it.

Horror dawned on him when he realised he_ couldn’t_ imagine his life without Lister. A future without Lister was... he tried to mentally conjure up any sort of image that wasn’t a misery filled blank space.

He couldn’t.

His teeth ground into each other.

Smeg but he _wanted _to stay here. The feeling, the chase, the _pulse. _It would all disappear once they left. And the way Lister looked at him, the way Lister touched him… that would go too.

Surely, a little longer wouldn’t hurt?

He sagged against the window frame, pressing his forehead against the glass. Presently, the sounds of Lister struggling with the bathroom door became amusing enough that he unstuck himself from the window, unhurriedly wandering back to the bed to watch.

Rimmer listened to the grunts of exertion interspersed with a few choice swear words before there was the sudden popping of splintering wood and the door collapsed to the floor, Lister barrelling out of it. He had apparently used his shoulder as some kind of battering ram and he winced and rolled it a couple of times before sheepishly looking behind him at the carnage.

“All better now?” Rimmer asked, raising an eyebrow and rubbing his thighs with his hands. He’d put the fishnets back on, even though the holes were now getting large enough for him to put his leg through.

“Yep, yeah, splendid.”

The sideways looks they snuck at each other clashed together unexpectedly and they both looked away quickly.

Lister turned back to look at the door.

“I hate this game,” he muttered, nudging one of the splinters with his toe and giving it a laden look that Rimmer couldn’t see.

“Funny, it was actually starting to grow on me.”

“Since when have you been so smegging chirpy?”

Rimmer shrugged, opened his mouth to say something, stopped, looked down at his tights and began to pick at a hole.

“Just making the best of the situation I suppose. There’s so much I don’t miss about being dead,” Trixie’s brilliant smile flashed across his face, trying to hide the hollow hurt of an existence disconnected from everything.

Finally the smile eased into something more genuine.

“Lister?” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. A quiet, unacknowledged plea, born out of desperation. Out of an honest desire to just be adored, for however short a time.

“Yeah?”

Unfortunately Rimmer made the mistake of looking up at Lister’s face, and promptly chickened out. It was one thing to think about being touched by Lister, and quite another to put that plan into action. It felt like his heart had just tried to kill him then and there and if there was one thing he didn’t want from a second death, it was for it to be in a sleazy motel room with a broken bathroom door.

“Forget it,” he flapped a hand dismissively.

Unfortunately, Lister was as stubborn as a mule playing monopoly.

“Is something the matter?”

“No. I’m _fine,_” he said, too quickly.

“Look, if this is about this morning…”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared. Funny how this body still picked up on that.

“Oh smeg, it is, isn’t it?” Lister ran a hand through his hair; “Look…” he paused, trying to work out an excuse that didn’t make him sound like some sort of strange prick.

Rimmer pursed his lips in frustration, clutching his legs through his tights. Smegging hell, why was the man such an idiot? Moreover, why did he want said idiot in bed and worshipping his body? Had his standards always been this low, or was it some effect of the game?

Was Lister just a special case?

The thrice-damned idiot in question took the liberty of sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, tapping his fingertips together as he licked his lips and tried to begin.

“Look, I do need to explain myself man. You’ve got to understand, I’ve been sleeping next to Kochanski for years, so this is… well it’s an adaptation, isn’t it? I mean, I guess it’s more of an adaptation for you actually, but… well I’ve just been used to sleeping next to women and I mean, your hair smelt incredible so I just sort of…” Lister appeared to momentarily run out of steam, chewing on a fingernail before continuing. “Anyway, I’m really sorry; I wouldn’t put it on you like that. You don’t need that sort of thing on top of living with her body-”

“Shut up,” Rimmer was massaging his forehead, desperately trying to make peace with the fact that for some smegging reason, he still somehow _wanted_ the blabbering goit. Lister looked affronted that Rimmer had halted him mid-apology.

“Hey man, I said I was sorry! What more do you want? It wasn’t intentional -“

“That’s smegging why!” Rimmer exploded, thrusting a finger into Lister’s chest. “It_ wasn’t_ intentional. You _wouldn’t _put it on me like that. I can’t believe… why can’t you see? Why can’t you see exactly what it is that I… oh smegging_ hell.”_

Lister assessed the expression on Rimmer’s face. It was still hard to read as Trixie, but the despair, the frustration, it was all universal. Whatever Rimmer had meant, it was a soul-deep confession.

“I don’t understand-“ he murmured, not sure if he was being entirely truthful. Because he remembered how Rimmer had looked by the glow of a cigarette lighter. Remembered even how he had looked in the prison, the tiny light of joy that had sparked in his eyes upon seeing Lister. It was just slightly beyond what could be explained away. But until now, Lister had ignored it – if anything, it was probably a simple projection of his own wants. No sense in burdening Rimmer with that.

“That’s because you’re a first-class idiot,” Rimmer sighed, finger tips digging into his temples and leaving small moon-shaped crescents from his nails.

“I’m not as stupid as I look, you know?”

“That’s not a huge comfort - you already look _very _stupid.”

Lister frowned and nudged him lightly with his ribs.

“So, let me get this right. You’re not angry because it happened, you’re angry because I didn’t _mean _to do it?”

Rimmer looked like he was desperately trying to avoid answering the question honestly.

“Well, if you must insist on simplifying it down like that…”

Lister nodded to himself, pressing his thumbnail against his bottom lip and trying to tamp down the Rimmer-centric thoughts that were attempting to spiral off into the distance.

“Why?” He twitched his eyebrows at Rimmer who glared back at him with a face that didn’t seem like it could quite believe how stupid he was being.

“Don’t be dense.”

Lister’s face took on a thoughtful look, running through all the other possible _other _reasons (of which there were exactly none), before his mouth opened with a small breath of understanding. His eyebrows still held doubt. Or was it disbelief?

Perhaps he hadn’t just been projecting after all.

“Are we caught up now?” Rimmer asked sarcastically, pursing his lips so Lister wouldn’t hear how panicked his breathing was becoming.

“I’m not sure,” Lister looked at him suspiciously, “It doesn’t seem very like you.”

“None of this does,” Rimmer murmured, sending a glance to the ceiling and trying to dredge up reserves of courage from somewhere that wasn’t himself before he turned abruptly to Lister and pressed a desperate kiss against the man’s lips.

“Oh,” Lister breathed quietly when Rimmer pulled away.

“Oh smeg,” Rimmer stood quickly, squinting his eyes shut and pressing the fingers of one hand against his eyebrows. “Does that explain things, you simple-minded piece of idiot scum? Do you _understand now?”_

Lister looked at him in a slightly bemused sort of way and Rimmer had to work hard to ignore the faint red stain that the fresh lipstick had left on Lister’s mouth.

“That was brave of you,” Lister spoke softly around a smile but otherwise tried to keep his jubilations under wraps. He didn’t want to scare Rimmer off. “How long have you been waiting to do that?”

“You’re asking for a punch,” Rimmer growled, and Lister had to concede that it was a bit of an unfair question.

“Fine, er, better question: why now?” Lister touched his lips absentmindedly, sending glances at Rimmer’s contorted face.

“God, you’re obtuse,” Rimmer groaned, already feeling like this had been a terrible mistake. He had had a lot of practice with telling only half the truth, so that was what he did. “Look, right ok, once we get out of here – smeg I can’t believe I’m saying this – once we get out of the game, I’ll go back to being a hologram, capiche?”

Lister nodded, realisation dawning quickly.

“Oh smeg, right. The whole ‘made of light’ deal…”

“Yes exactly. I just…I just want to _feel _something,” Rimmer finished, in a very small voice.

Lister tried to hide his disappointment in a pause; of course, it made sense that Rimmer would only want the physical aspect of all this. But then, if that were true…

“Why _me_ though?” If all Rimmer wanted was something physical, then there were plenty of people in here who could give that to him. “You could have anyone with a body like that, _anyone_-“

Rimmer fixed him with a piercing gaze.

“Why _not _you?”

And Lister wasn’t looking too closely, but he could see the way that Rimmer was shaking and he thought that perhaps this was as close to admitting anything as either of them could come right now.

“It’s not as if it’s… you know -” Rimmer gestured at himself, “- It’s not _gay_,” He was apparently trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Lister, “and I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking so I thought that perhaps… did you want to?”

Lister tried to hide the lopsided grin that was fighting to be on his face.

“Don’t do this to me Listy; I’ll have a heart-attack. You know what? Forget I said anything. Check out is at eleven, isn’t it? That leaves us an hour and a bit-“ Rimmer stood quickly, gathering up the extra money on the dresser before squeaking in surprise and dropping it back down.

Lister had crept up behind him and had taken him about the waist, squeezing him gently before slipping his hands around to Rimmer’s stomach, angling his head so he could kiss the side of Rimmer’s neck.

“Nevermind, I think I might have a heart-attack now,” Rimmer murmured, hand reaching hesitantly up to touch Lister’s cheek, revelling in the fact he _could _touch, breathing in the smell of Lister. In here he smelt like he was almost clean, but Rimmer could still detect the faintest hint of a cigarette, the spice of a curry. It was surprisingly comforting.

“Well that would spoil all the fun,” Lister murmured back, lips brushing Rimmer’s ear and sending a shiver through the other man.

“Far be it from me to ruin _your_ good time,” Rimmer replied, glad that Lister couldn’t see the immense relief on his face, or the joy that lit him up so brightly that he felt like he may as well be made of light.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You all know what's coming.  
The hotel room is used for its intended purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had no plans to make Trixie a longfic. This part was supposed to be the Only part... pretty much PWP and nothing more. Then I wrote it and a monster emerged. It grew multiple fisnetted legs and dropped me here... It's been wild and I'm so so grateful for everyone's comments and kudos (sorry that I take such a while to answer them! Seeing the 'unread' comments in my inbox keeps me accountable for posting the next chapter). 
> 
> So anyway enjoy this especially long chapter that finally puts the 'E' in TrixiE ;)

Rimmer turned abruptly in Lister’s grip, looking at him in disbelief.

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”

By way of reply, Lister took Rimmer’s cheeks in his hands, hesitating slightly before he tilted his head and gave Rimmer a kiss. A proper one. A deep, passionate one that said more about the situation than any of their words had.

When they pulled apart, Rimmer was looking at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world. The expression disappeared quickly, shuttered behind the walls of repression, but it had been _there._

It stoked something in Lister, breaking the dam of repressed sexuality. He wanted everything that Rimmer was prepared to offer him, and he wanted it _now. _

“Oh,” Rimmer gasped, surprised as Lister surged against him. He melted under Lister’s hands as he was pressed against the wall, twining his arms tight around his back as the man kissed his neck. A neck that Rimmer knew must reek of perfume, slender and pale and no doubt getting bruised by the minute.

Lister pulled away briefly, eyes lidded as he gazed at Rimmer’s face, before he swooped back in to press an open-mouthed and utterly _filthy _kiss against his lips, holding him in place with two firm hands at his waist. It gave Rimmer time to silently marvel at the power that Lister had over him like this... most of the time, Rimmer hasn’t relished the feeling of helplessness that came with this body, but right now it felt like the most perfect thing in the world to be pressed against by a strong figure with large hands and a large-

Rimmer flushed and coughed as he felt Lister’s package-that-incurs-extra-shipping-costs press against him. Without the heels, Rimmer was a good three inches shorter than Lister and he shuddered with barely-concealed anticipation as Lister rubbed his crotch deliberately into the leather front of his skirt.

“Yes,” Rimmer sighed against Lister’s mouth, losing himself in the motions of their rutting and forgetting to think for a second.

Lister grinned at this before breaking the kiss and suddenly picking Rimmer up, to many girlish shrieks of insincere protestation.

“Put me down!” he demanded, trying not to catch the giggles from the mirth that was pouring out of Lister.

“Oh come on, I’ve never been able to pick you up before – let me enjoy it,” Lister tilted his head to the side, looking up at Rimmer with wide, innocent eyes.

“Goit,” Rimmer muttered, as Lister readjusted his grip, using the wall to support more of Rimmer’s weight as both his hands came to rest under Rimmer’s bum. Lister gave Rimmer a quick experimental squeeze and smiled at the answering squeak that was accompanied with a glare. 

“That was dirty pool,” Rimmer scowled, but was disarmed quickly when Lister used his advantage to kiss him again and all he could do was sigh gratefully into it, attempting to follow Lister’s lips as he pulled away.

“Well? Are you going to keep me up here forever?” Rimmer asked, trying to cover his simple desperation for another kiss, a never-ending kiss, by looking disdainfully down his aquiline nose at Lister. The effect was rather mollified by the way his arms were flung carelessly around the back of Lister’s neck and made the words seem like a call to action rather than an expression of disdain.

“I guess not. Hold on,” Lister said and the grip on his neck tightened as he moved away from the wall. Rimmer cursed himself for this nearly reflexive action. It showed that he trusted Lister completely instinctively, and he wished he wasn’t so incredibly transparent about that.

Lister swirled away from the wall before depositing Rimmer on the bed, rather less gracefully than intended and with a startled yelp to let him know that this lack of grace was not appreciated.

Rimmer rolled his eyes as Lister chuckled out an apology and crawled up after him, covering Rimmer with his body. Rimmer looked so dishevelled like this, so thoroughly debauched. Hair tousled and hopelessly messy, lipstick faded and smeared slightly around the edges. Lister couldn’t help trying to picture Rimmer’s original body looking this debauched, this desperate.

It was a pleasant visual, to say the least.

“Smeg, you’re gorgeous,” Lister grinned as Rimmer snorted derisively.

“Yes, isn’t she just?”

“I don’t mean her. _You.” _

Rimmer blushed and looked away.

“Oh…well, that’s what you _would _say.”

Lister shook his head and kissed him again, and Rimmer sighed in relief; it felt like Lister was trying to tell him something that he couldn’t bear to hear. Not right now. But he could accept this; he could accept that Lister wanted someone like Trixie, and of course, Rimmer was more than content to go along with the ride.

_Much _more than just content. He wrapped his legs around the back of Lister’s, pulling him in tighter as Lister’s hands traced burning lines down his body.

It was so much. It was so much after so long of having nothing. Even in here, even in Better Than Life, he’d never been given this. Damn Juanita and her insured breasts. Having it off with the pool boy like some sort of…

“Oi,” Rimmer’s eyes snapped back to Lister’s, which were boring into his skull with an unusual tenacity, “no drifting off and worrying, right? Focus on me.”

Rimmer was slightly flummoxed that Lister had even noticed he’d been spiralling down a train of thought. Evidently, the man was slightly more observant than Rimmer gave him credit for. It was… well it was sort of sweet, wasn’t it? That Lister had noticed?

And focusing on Lister would definitely not be a problem. Not with the way that the man was currently worshipping him like some sort of curried deity.

The licking certainly re-enforced _that_ particular visual.

Rimmer let his head drop back against the pillows, eyes half-open as he watched Lister kiss around the plunging neckline of his top before dipping down to kiss between his breasts.

He was panting. This was ridiculous; they’d barely even done anything and he could already feel himself falling to pieces.

Lister’s hands stroked over his breasts, teasing his nipples through the thin fabric of his top, pausing before bypassing the top altogether, dipping underneath it to fondle and tease Rimmer’s bare skin with his fingertips.

“Oh smeg, oh please,” Rimmer begged, barely caring at the way that Lister grinned at him in a knowing way before untying the knot at the front of Rimmer’s shirt, deftly unclasping his bra (Rimmer was rather impressed with how quickly Lister managed this) and pulling both articles off Rimmer’s shoulders. He touched the sides of Rimmer’s breasts gently, straddling him as he stroked down the curved edges of his body, thumbs creeping back up to brush against the underside of his breasts.

Lister smiled at Rimmer’s flushed expression, dipping down to kiss his lips before mouthing his way along the man’s jaw. The woman’s jaw?

Lister wouldn’t have admitted to anyone how suddenly disappointed he felt when he realised he was looking for a scar there that wasn’t present on Trixie’s body.

Rimmer’s scar. He wanted to kiss it, leave a tiny hickey there and mark Rimmer as his.

In the absence of the scar, he resolved to kiss Rimmer everywhere he could reach instead, licking his way down Rimmer’s neck, biting down and thrilling in Rimmer’s gasps, thrilling in Rimmer’s hands in his hair.

Rimmer began to grapple with Lister’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he caught on, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere that was utterly out of sight and even further out of mind.

Rimmer went bright pink, apparently with the recurring realisation that this was happening and Lister quickly swooped back in to kiss him and whisper ‘Don’t worry’ against his lips.

“I want you,” Rimmer’s hoarse voice declared, “Please.”

“You’re sure?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

Lister thought it might have been quite fun to make Rimmer beg, but considering the situation he knew he wasn’t that cruel. Instead he smiled and gently pushed away the strands of hair that had fallen into Rimmer’s face, looking at him, just _looking _at him for a moment.

He wished he could see more of Rimmer in the unfamiliar face.

Rimmer looked away quickly, obviously already straining under the awkwardness of the situation. Lister could see a red rash of embarrassment creeping down his neck and down into his cleavage.

“Ok,” Lister said softly, sitting back on his calves and patting the leather of Rimmer’s skirt. “Better get this off though, yeah?”

Rimmer looked caught off guard for a moment and Lister hurried to reassure him.

“We don’t have to-“

“No it’s not that!” Rimmer interjected before Lister could give him an excuse to stop which he would have to ignore. “It’s just…” Rimmer sighed, massaging his forehead. “It’s just that when I was sent out ‘tramping it’, those _goons _put me in what can’t even really be called underwear…”

Lister looked curiously at him, biting his lip.

“Hey!” Rimmer yelped, as Lister suddenly lifted his skirt and peeped underneath, earning him a slap to the head.

Lister choked on a surprised laugh, apparently impervious to the light-hearted beating as he looked back up at Rimmer and tried to stop himself from appearing too amused.

“Crotch-less knickers, Rimsy?”

“I was _trying _to explain it, you godless wank-stain with teeth!”

Lister couldn’t stop himself anymore and burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Rimmer’s lips twitched and it was clear that he might be a little less put out than he was letting on.

“No explaining necessary,” Lister calmed down with a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he shimmied the skirt from Rimmer’s hips without further complaint, before deliberately stroking a hand between Rimmer’s legs.

Rimmer made an inarticulate noise, somewhere between a gasp and a noise of disapproval, before letting his head hit the pillow and feeling himself sink further into the bedsheets.

“Goit,” he breathed.

“That’s ‘Mr Talented Goit’ to you,” Lister teased, endorsing his claim as he rubbed his thumb in deliberate circles, making Rimmer whimper.

Rimmer continued to sigh as Lister touched him, removing the underwear (much to Rimmer’s relief) and flinging it to join the unknown realm of his shirt. When Lister pressed a gentle finger inside him, Rimmer had to bite his lip to stop himself begging for it.

Mr-Talented-Goit. Well, he was certainly _that, _Rimmer thought, even as Lister’s thorough attention was making it hard to think straight. Rimmer didn’t recognise the noises that were coming out of his own mouth; Pleading, _begging _kind of noises. High-pitched. Nothing like how he used to sound, and strangely arousing because of it.

Quite apart from that, it was frankly exhilarating to not be himself. Barely free from self-loathing, but at least he could trust in this body, trust in its muscle memory for this sort of thing. Trust that even if something went terribly, he could blame it on the ill-fitting person suit.

It was perfect.

Oh it was _perfect. _

“I-“ Rimmer gulped down a lungful of air and tried again, “I- just do it.” Rimmer gasped impatiently. Because if all this was just glorified preparation for Lister sticking his dick in him, then they may as well get to it.

“Easy there tiger; It’s fairest this way,” Lister said, bending down to lick at Rimmer’s clit and apparently getting the desired response as Rimmer’s head jerked back into the pillows.

“I’m more than willing to let you handle this, but _what _is ‘fairest’?” Rimmer asked breathily, a hand thrown carelessly across his forehead as he watched Lister.

“Oh, it’s just better this way round. Makes it more fun for you.”

Rimmer still looked befuddled and Lister stopped his administrations for a moment, looking up at him.

“Really? Ok, not to over-narrate, but I figured I’d make you cum first,” he shrugged, “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do and you’ll probably enjoy yourself more if we get one in now. Besides, so many women _don’t _cum when they’re with a man because… well, you know. It’s a kind of one-and-done deal with us,” Lister explained, massaging Rimmer’s thighs and smiling at him.

“Not with me it isn’t,” Rimmer murmured, but still looked confused. “Don’t…. I mean, I just never realised that women could…” he cast around for a more delicate way to phrase it before scrunching up his face and mouthing the word ‘cum’.

Lister looked at him in disbelief for a moment, before laughing in surprise.

“Are you serious?”

“Stop mocking me! How was I to know?”

“God, it’s a good thing there isn’t an actual woman here to give you a proper bollocking right now.”

“I rather thought that giving me a bollocking was going to be your job.”

Lister laughed at the innuendo, before quickly switching back to being in a state of utter disbelief.

“So what, even in this body you’ve never had a wank?”

Rimmer looked at the ceiling, face hot with embarrassment.

“I gave it a go. Once. Obviously didn’t see much point to it, so I stopped bothering after about five minutes.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, It’s not like there are any manuals for this sort of thing,” he continued, “‘The Bloke’s Guide to Possessing a Prostitute: How I learned to start masturbating and love the O’ isn’t going to be on a Booker’s prize list anytime soon.”

Lister snickered and Rimmer rolled his eyes, twisting his fingers together on his forehead and sighing in relief as Lister slowly returned his hands to their previous endeavour.

“Besides,” Rimmer murmured around a sigh, gesturing vaguely “I could never get it to feel as good as this.”

“Oh well, nothing like a bit of concrete evidence to prove to you that women can and do cum-“ Lister smirked, voice soft and dangerous as he caught Rimmer’s eye “-_often_.”

His grin looked as if it ate men like Rimmer for breakfast and Rimmer watched, dry-mouthed, as it sunk down to suck and lap between his legs.

It almost made Rimmer jealous, to think of all the practice that Lister must have had to make him feel like _this _so easily. But then Lister’s efforts redoubled and it was all Rimmer could do to keep his groans to an acceptable volume.

Rimmer’s traitorous hands wound their way around Lister’s dreadlocks, twisting them hard enough to hurt as Lister stroked him, slipping two fingers into him and curling them _just so_ in a way that had Rimmer choking on his own gasps, his heart rate stuttering higher as Lister’s pace never wavered. Rimmer could feel the pleasure creeping upwards, cresting in waves, shuddering through his body and making him gasp and plead.

Lister paused in his licking to pepper his stomach with gentle kisses and Rimmer nearly cried at the simple gesture. It was so tender and he hadn’t asked for it, was sure he didn’t deserve it, but even still… He’d never felt so adored.

It wasn’t surprising that it only took a moment for the emotion and Lister’s talent to send him to pieces. He cried out, panting Lister’s name as his orgasm rocked through him, his hands clenching in Lister’s hair and the bedsheets.

He grasped and scratched at Lister’s shoulders, desperately trying to pull the man upwards so he could press against that warm body, kissing it everywhere, worshipping it. He winced a little as Lister removed his fingers, before sighing contentedly as Lister lay down next to him, letting himself be kissed deeply, as Rimmer curled around him, the endorphins rushing through his system making him more affectionate than he could ever remember being.

But the orgasmic high couldn’t last forever and soon Rimmer’s affection cooled, his breathing levelling out as he pressed his own hand between his legs and sighed, looking at Lister through sleepy eyes.

“Feel like a real orgasm to you?” Lister quipped.

“Oh smeg off,” Rimmer muttered, but Lister could still make out the warmth that hung on the words.

“So it was good then?”

“I recall telling you to smeg off. But it was very nice, thank you.”

“Good,” Lister dragged a thumb across Rimmer’s cheek before sighing heavily as he finally let his hand drift down to his erection, “Did you want more?”

“Is ‘more’ usual?” Rimmer tried not to appear too obvious as he took in the view of Lister stroking his cock with barely concealed lust, “You’re the women’s-sexuality-expert here.”

“Oh yes, it can be,” Lister nodded, a sideways smirk lighting up his face as he noticed the direction of Rimmer’s furtive expression.

“Alright then,” Rimmer let his eyes rest on Lister’s rolling hips a moment longer before he looked up at him and whet his lips.

“Alright? No witty comeback?”

“If you want your comeback, I imagine you could try scraping it out of the condom you’re about to put on.”

Lister burst into a fit of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief.

The mirth was still running through him when he said it.

“Smeg, I_ like _you Rimmer,” he said, and instantly blushed, and kept it light and less sincere by covering it with a chuckle and rummaging through the drawer of out of date condoms just to find that Rimmer had separated the single in-date one into its own pile.

Rimmer stayed quiet as Lister fiddled with opening the packet, but his heart was hammering at three times its normal speed.

“That’s a relief. I would hate to think I was forcing you into this.”

“Speaking of which-“ Lister remarked, taking a moment to roll on the condom before he went to kneel between Rimmer’s legs, “Are you sure?”

Rimmer arched an eyebrow.

“If you don’t put your dick inside me right now then you will leave here without it,” he threatened, hating the fact that he was practically begging, but too far gone to care otherwise.

“Right,” Lister got the message, letting out a harsh breath of relief as he sunk slowly into Rimmer. He opened his eyes from where they’d fallen shut and had to give himself a quick reality check. They were…they were _here_, doing this, together. Rimmer underneath him, looking up at him, touching him-

“Bit of an odd one, isn’t it?” Rimmer said breathlessly, his hands gripping Lister’s thighs.

It was like Rimmer had read his mind.

“I’ll say,” he let out an amused breath of air, letting some of his tension go with it, “Did you ever think we’d end up like this?”

“_Move,” _Rimmer mouthed, sighing as Lister dutifully obeyed, thrusting carefully into him. “I don’t know. But now that we’re here-“ his statement was interrupted by his own hitching breath.

“Yeah, now that we’re here-“ Lister agreed, though not entirely sure of what he was agreeing.

Rimmer nodded emphatically. Perhaps he wasn’t quite sure either.

Lister leaned down over Rimmer, using his forearms to brace himself as he rocked into Rimmer, pressing light kisses against Rimmer’s gasping mouth as Rimmer tried to pull him closer with hot hands and arms.

Rimmer desperately tried to stop himself from thinking about the implications of the whole situation.

For Lister, this certainly wasn’t gay. He was fucking a woman’s body, plain and simple. But Rimmer – Rimmer tried to stop the train of thought – Rimmer was fucking a man, was fucking _Lister, _and moreover he was enjoying it. Enjoying it so _smegging _much. His arms loosened on Lister, losing strength as he disappeared into his own thoughts. What was that, if it wasn’t gay? Yes, it might have been a woman’s body, but Rimmer was still Rimmer inside of her and all he wanted was Lister and – his thoughts screamed to a halt as Lister slapped him.

“What was that for?” he demanded indignantly.

“You’re worrying again,” Lister soothed away the sting by kissing down Rimmer’s neck and stroking his face.

“Can you blame me?”

“We can stop if you like-“

“Don’t you _dare!_”

“Faster it is then.”

“Now hang on, Miladd-_oh,”_ Rimmer gasped as Lister thrust into him, leaning back and gripping his hips for leverage. The little goit got points for being _very _good at distraction.

The headboard banged rhythmically against the wall but if he was being honest with himself, Rimmer was getting too far gone to care much about what other people could hear anyway. It didn’t matter. None of them were real.

Besides, Lister’s panting groans were probably much more incriminating and incidentally, much more erotic.

Soon, Rimmer’s thought process couldn’t hold much more than the words ‘Lister’, ‘fuck’ and ‘yes’, complemented by Lister repeating his name like a prayer.

Nearly unthinkingly, Rimmer reached a hand down to touch himself as Lister’s thrusts became erratic and desperate, clenching around Lister and screaming as his orgasm shook him. Lister’s mouth opened on an answering yell and he stilled, shaking as he spent himself, buried deep inside Rimmer.

Their eyes connected as they came down from the high, and Lister surged down to meet Rimmer’s pleading lips, holding them together for another few moments as their harsh breathing filled the few inches of space between them. 

Presently, Lister sat back up and smiled idly before pulling out, disposing of the condom discretely then collapsing back down on top of Rimmer, kissing him messily.

“Get off,” Rimmer wheezed, shoving at Lister’s chest until he rolled onto his side, pulling at Rimmer’s hips until Rimmer relented, letting himself be pulled back into a sweaty, sticky embrace.

“Smeg I feel filthy,” Rimmer murmured into the skin of Lister’s shoulder.

“Shouldn’t have used up all the hot water then,” Lister murmured back.

Rimmer rolled his eyes, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of his face. He couldn’t escape it – gay-implications be sodded (literally), he had to say something. Had to acknowledge what that had meant to him.

“That was…” but he was stuck for the words to express it in any meaningful way.

“-Mindblowing?” Lister finished for him, smiling into the waves of Rimmer’s hair.

“-Better than anticipated,” Rimmer corrected, mildly irritated by the smug confidence that oozed out of Lister.

“Better than not being touched for years I bet,” Lister’s fingertips brushed up into Rimmer’s scalp and Rimmer leaned into them, sighing appreciatively.

“Smeg, it’s not hard to do better than that. But it was… it meant a lot to me. Thank you.”

Lister waved away his gratitude with a lazy hand and a smile.

They lay together in a sweaty silence, their slowing breaths the only noise in the afterglow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of sex isn't always simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so I really thought quarantine would make creating easier. No. It did not. (And then I decided to rewrite the whole chapter, because I HATED the first version of it... I think it's been nearly a year since the last update? Whack. Oh also, I passed my exams and graduated from my Law degree in the time between the last chapter and THIS one - thanks to everyone who wished me luck!)  
Anyway, I'm glad to be back and hope I can get the next chapter up sooner than I did this one! Enjoy this extra long chapter, with added helpings of Angst.

Lister inhaled deeply, sighing as he sent a blissed out look at Rimmer. The one-eyed glance he got in return was enough to send him into a round of throaty chuckles.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he finally said, grinning up at the ceiling.

“Oh. Was it?” Rimmer mused.

“Huh?”

Rimmer quickly shook his head against the pillow.

“Nothing.”

“Ok_aaay_,” Lister rolled his eyes. Typical Rimmer. “Well anyway, I’m going to go and clean up – keep the bed warm for me.” He patted Rimmer’s thigh through the sheets, taking a moment to prop up the bathroom door before entering the ensuite.

The atmosphere left in Lister’s wake was warm and comforting, with the morning light a pale orange that wrapped gently over every surface and filtered through the slatted blinds. For the first time in his life, Rimmer thought he might know what it meant to be truly happy.

He rolled over, pushing the long strands of hair away from his face as he ensconced himself further under the duvet. He checked the time, thought that the seconds must be passing more slowly and was content to let them do so. It was the first time in as long as he could remember that he wasn’t constantly pushing forward into the next available moment, hoping it would be better. He was fairly certain that this was as good as it got, and could happily stay here forever.

Although admittedly, he was getting a little bored without Lister. In an act that wasn’t entirely innocent, Rimmer opened the bedside drawer and checked their condom situation. Still disappointingly out of date, but now accompanied by a box that Rimmer couldn’t remember seeing before. He frowned, plucking it out.

_‘TOOL KIT’_

He snorted a laugh and looked at the broken bathroom door. In theory, it wasn’t entirely too broken to fix, if either of them could be bothered.

Right. Right, of course. They had been technicians, hadn’t they? Back in their old life.

Their real life.

Rimmer recoiled from the memory of that drab, colourless existence. He could only see it in shades of grey, in shades of misery and constant exhaustion and he suddenly understood why Lister had so desperately wanted to stay here, wrapped in the joy of this world that really could be so much better than life.

He looked back at a life that he could not touch, and he yearned for none of it. Even the idea of Lister’s death seemed nearly foreign now, as if something so violent couldn’t happen somewhere so perfect. And here at least, Lister didn’t hate him.

And that was as much this body’s work as his own. Because, despite what Lister said, this hadn’t been entirely unexpected, had it? Not since Rimmer had seen Lister looking at him like _that_ in the prison.

The only part that _was _unexpected was that Lister still screwed him as if he was… well, as if he was Arnold Rimmer. Which you know, he _was_. But Rimmer had been expected to be a kind of placeholder; a stand-in Kochanski. Lister could have called her name and Rimmer wouldn’t have minded, because it was what he was expecting and it was what he was used to.

Everyone always wanted someone other than him.

Which was why this body had to stay, and why the real world wasn’t worth returning to. Not when he finally had everything he wanted here.

Lister shimmied his way out of the bathroom, hand modestly covering himself as he hopped back to the bed and under the covers.

“All yours.”

“Mm,” Rimmer nodded, before turning over to face Lister. “Look, I’ve been thinking. A little more time in the game couldn’t hurt, could it? After all, I’ve still got the testicle handcuffs.”

Lister’s eyes softened, and he stroked his hand through Rimmer’s hair.

“Yeah it could Rimmer,” he whispered, leaning in close to press a kiss against Rimmer’s lips, “You know it already has.”

Rimmer supressed the sigh that he nearly made when Lister kissed him, turning his head away instead.

“You’ve changed your tune,” Rimmer muttered. “Bored already are we? Typical man.”

“Come off it Rimmer.”

“No.”

“Look, maybe we should discuss this once you’ve cleaned up. You’ll probably feel better for it and er… well, make sure you have a slash.”

Rimmer blinked in disbelief. “Sorry?!” he spluttered, temporarily derailed from his crusade to keep Lister in the game, “I don’t remember giving you the authority to tell me when to have a pissing piss!”

“Calm your tits-“

“-and now you’re being insensitive.”

“For smeg’s sake, I’m just trying to stop you from getting a UTI.”

Rimmer looked at him blankly.

“A Urinary Tract Infection, you know?

“You mean that’s a _risk?_” Rimmer shrieked, “Well thanks very much for _telling _me. Now I’ll probably contract one!”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to leave the game?”

“Stop using this body against me – and we’re not done with this conversation!” Rimmer threatened as he threw himself out of the bed and powerwalked, nakedly, into the bathroom, propping the door up aggressively behind him.

“Well that makes a right change from the black card system!” Lister shouted after him, but the rejoinder came too late and shortly after, he heard the shower running.

He crossed his arms and glared moodily at the crack in the plaster on the opposite wall. It was a _very _ugly crack, as these things went. Not one sniff of romanticism about that crack of plaster, no sir. It was long, broken up in several places and practically bisecting the room down the middle. Wide enough for bugs to live in, if they didn’t mind cramped quarters. Lister curled his lip and quickly diverted his thoughts before he could get onto the subject of contemplating just how many spiders might be inside.

He _supposed _he could get up and make coffee for them both. There was a kettle, even if there wasn’t much else of anything. But he wasn’t really in a mood for being charitable.

In fact, he was rather in the mood for stretching out the post-coitus into a laid-back day of having sex and smoking, in whichever order suited him, and as much of both as possible.

The weird thing was, that was probably exactly what Rimmer wanted _too_. He had even said so, in nearly as many words. Perhaps minus the smoking.

That was a bloody odd thought, that. Rimmer wanting to stay in the game longer, to have sex with _him. _In a funny kind of way, it almost made sense. a) Lister was a total stud and Rimmer was lucky to have had the opportunity to bed him, (Lister chuckled at himself, but could admit that he wasn’t exactly averse to the arrangement _either). _ And b) Rimmer, in all fairness, had a pretty bad wrap of it in the real world. For Lister, being the last human being alive _sucked, _deeply, but at least he could still touch things. At least he could still entertain the idea that he might one day have real sex again, and a real relationship again. And at least he had _memories _of when those things had happened. Rimmer didn’t have any of that.

Despite his better intentions, Lister was starting to feel sorry for the git. Again. Didn’t this always happen?

And as he sighed, ready to eat humble pie and try to make amends in whatever way didn’t send Rimmer flying off the handle, the bathroom door was slammed against the floor and Trixie stormed out, naked and clearly still enraged.

“It’s alright for you!” Rimmer bellowed, pointing his finger at Lister. Lister looked at the finger impassively, tucking the duvet more comfortably around himself. He wondered what an onlooker would make of the situation. Rimmer-as-Trixie, breasts akimbo and power-stancing like a prime minister, him, wide-eyed and staring up at her from under the duvet, ready to take whatever insults he’d managed to think up while in his shower. Probably think it was some sort of absurdist piece of theatre. Maybe a deleted scene from an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. It certainly _felt _rather like that.

“It’s alright for you, Mr happy-go-humping! I bet you never stop to even think how I suffer, seeing you swagger around and stick your dick wherever you can make it fit, do you? Not only is it _vile, _but talk about rubbing it in. And that’s _not _an innuendo, stop sniggering. All I ever see is you, bumming around the bunkroom, being _alive _and- and- wasting every second of it! Mr my-Penis-is-permanently-perky-and-periodically-poked-into-pomegranates! And now what, you want to take this away from me too? I thought you’d be _happy. Grateful _even!” Rimmer’s tirade left him red in the face and nearly panting, but his expression was anguished. “You don’t know what it’s like to have had _nothing, _and then die and have even less than _that, _only to finally get _everything_ and be told that you have to give. It. Up!”

“You’re right,” Lister finally said, quietly.

“And what’s more-“ Rimmer stopped, blinked, dropped his arms to his side, “-_what_?”

“I said you’re right. I don’t know what that’s like. I can’t even start to imagine it.”

Rimmer was so shocked that Lister could swear that he saw him shrink a few inches. By the time he got to the bed, he seemed even smaller than the 5’2” he claimed he was.

Lister reached out a hand, pulling Rimmer back onto the bed where he sat, stunned into silence for a few moments.

“I can’t even start to imagine what that’s like for you Rimmer,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind Rimmer’s ear. Rimmer shook his head quickly to dislodge it, but was otherwise silent. “But surely this can’t be much better? Surely being _this_,” he gestured at Trixie’s body “-can’t be much better? You’re not _you _Rimmer.”

“You seem to be under the impression that that’s a bad thing. Have you met _me?_”

Lister paused for just a second too long.

“Right,” Rimmer nodded, his point proven but at a terrible cost to his pride. “So it’s decided then; we stay in the game, I stay in this body and we enjoy ourselves-“

“Woah there, nice try there with the sympathy play, but we’re still _leaving _Rimmer.”

Rimmer scowled.

“I don’t understand why you suddenly want to leave, just when things are getting good again.”

“And how long until they get bad again? How long until this blows up in our faces like my _entire _town? How long until you ruin this too?”

Lister went pale, watching as Rimmer reddened, “I didn’t mean it like that,” he added hastily.

“Oh no? Didn’t you? _Really_?” The heat of the day was starting in now. Intense. Scorching. Flammable. “You can just say it you know. You preferred _her._”

And Rimmer’s lips curled in a lipsticked snarl, the face ugly and still strange, alien to Lister.

“And even if I can’t be _her, _this is as close as I can get to being like her. This body is as close as it _smegging _gets, so why can’t you just make the most of it?” Rimmer was still snarling, but his eyes were wrinkled and wet at the corners.

“But you’re not a ‘her’ you stupid git,” Lister said softly, “You’re Rimmer, my smeghead snotbrained bunkmate and I-“

“You think I don’t _know that?” _ Rimmer roared. “You give me one good reasons why I should give up this body and go back to being him! One good reason Listy!” Rimmer brandished his finger at Lister. The threat was evident. The plea, less so.

“Because you’re _still _him! This body is just like… like a suit that you’re wearing. Whatever bits you have or… or don’t have, you’re still the same person underneath. You know? Come on Arn, it’s still you. It always will be.” Lister looked like he was revving up to admitting something, before abruptly veering away from it at the last second. “You do know we have to go, don’t you?” he finished quietly, silently begging Rimmer to agree. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could fight against his own desire to throw caution to the winds and stay here indefinitely.

But Lister wasn’t so naïve to think that the game wasn’t making this much easier on the both of them. Nor was he so naïve to think that Rimmer would want anything from him once they left the game- this was just a convenient arrangement for him, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like the bastard would ever be able to get anyone else to sleep with him, after all. So Lister was the mug here. His feelings were being taken advantage of and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. It wasn’t Rimmer’s fault, after all.

Rimmer’s lip twitched, and Lister couldn’t read the expression that followed. Eventually, Rimmer sighed, a flat look on his face.

“You’re right. Of course. We’ll go back. But I won’t ever forgive you.”

“At least we’ll both live to see it,” Lister said, relief colouring his voice, even as he tried to squash his disappointment.

Rimmer didn’t respond, picking up the various items of clothing left scattered across the room. He dumped Lister’s clothes on him in a heap and then struggled with reattaching his bra fastening for the better part of two minutes.

“You know,” Lister murmured, his brain racing a mile a minute as he reached over to help Rimmer with the fittings, “We can’t leave the game until we meet up with Kryten and the Cat, right? So, we’ve still got some time until we need to check out…”

“We _don’t_; it’s nearly 11.” Rimmer pulled away from Lister’s hands, wincing as the strap pinged against his back in response.

“Well ok. But Cat’s castle is still a long way away… We could always, you know, make the most of our time until then.”

“Stop _pitying _me,” Rimmer hissed, turning around to send the most ferocious glare at Lister. “Besides-“ he added, turning back and shimmying into his skirt. “-we’re out of condoms anyway.”

Defeated, Lister slumped against the pillows, watching Trixie’s back as Rimmer dressed.

He could have cried with how much he just wanted to stay here, how he wanted to make everything better and stay with Rimmer forever. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? This way, his own feelings were nearly spared, and at least Rimmer would hopefully not become too reliant on the physical aspect of it all. He wasn’t so naïve to think that the game wasn’t making this easier on both of them, and that, once they left, they’d fall back into their old routines.

After all, what other choice did they have?

The heat of the day had dissipated and the room felt colder now. Through the window, Lister could make out the suggestion of rain forming on the horizon.

Just another day in paradise.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and pleading in the form of interpretive dance all really spin my nipple nuts.


End file.
